sea, strange
ghost of
ghostly iron,

blue star of
sea-song,

love in your
song of ghosts,
in your ghostly
irons,

clouds darker
than the sea's
stark iron, their
ghosts the sweet
breathed mist,
their ghosts
the ghostly iron,

the sea, crashing
wild and iron-like,
the tide's ghost
also iron,

wind, wild and
high like a cindery
bird, caught in
the irons of the day,
metal star of the breezes.

light,
sense of shelter,
ghost of grey
smouldering,
little sky of
iron, heart-beat
like a ghost,
heart-beat singing
of love.

night melts her leaves
on the winds
carrying the cloudy
scurry of the sky
to the cindery lanes.

When dark clouds descend on her eyes
Her pale skin exudes a cindery sadness
Pints of bloods flow out her vein
The stubborn poet breaks down.

All his creative resolves deliriums
Adorned garlands of his mind
His visions beyond the present
Mock him draws him in her pain.

What remains of him is not a poet
Not one looking down from a pedestal
But a mere mortal brutally battered
Brought down to earth crushed.

For the swells in her heart
Her futilely seeking oasis
Wind drift to no anchor
His poetry is a lavish indulgence.

Swallowing* the almond breeze
Choking heartsick memories
Fading like a dry threadbare
Necrotic, vain, unaware

Shushing the cindery pleas
Covering sanguine palsies
Falling in a scenic snare
Tired, unspeaking, disrepair

I smell the marsh froth.
Cindery campfires saw off at woodheaps.
The scent struck off into April.
I wear my soles like black parades
Slipshod over the mind, and farscape
Reproachful.  Reproachless.
In awe of the covered expanse.
It is hard to believe how cold, or how joyous
Is the thin shuddering warp
Which is coerced, without taste
In the depraved, saddened nutshell.