undo the rusty bolts
underlining
  my frizzy hairline
the crummy ones that hold
  volatile turmoil
    within my scalp
the erratic lunacy
  playing
   with my aging brain
using the untangled strings
  to jump rope
   and play
    sorrowful tunes
      for the weeping
        to harmonize

i want you
  to stick your hands
   in my heavy head
as you would
  in a flower ***
    freshly filled with soil
dig into the moist compound
  with your pliable fingers
   amend
     the corruptive leakage
       that toils
         within my own deceit

i want you
  to avidly turn
    the soft claying matter
       how ever you please
as you would
  turn into roads
     that lead you
        running
           straight to me

i want you
  to breathe
     igniting hope
born from the fumes
   of cigarettes
    you smoked insensibly
into the seeds
  you wish to discard
     in this potted cavity

i want you
  to pour oceans
    of poetic sentiments
tainted with gentle kindness
   from those isolated tears
     held back in the sockets
        of your eyes
to water
   my wilting corpse
     so it may flourish
        from your light reflecting gift
          of life (you resurrect me)

i want you
  to trust
     in your
       captivating presence
          to make me
              unintentionally smile
from your caress
  will selflessly sprout
     inflorescent buds
       of rich purplish-blue flowers
          with conspicuous green calyxes

  and even though their coloring
        is rather insignificant
  and they can be easily overlooked

i want you
  to know
   that only you
     hold the key
       to this secret pasture

that
  without you
   there would not be
     such garden
         for us to hide

Claying in through desert fads
Like some of those old Utah lads
The perrenial sun is the scorching one
Like dumped up logic in deafed up pun
Passing through the graveyard cross
Halcyon of the deep loss
Now way ahead of time strands
The fanthom mark reminds me errands
Of every dawn that strikes me whole
Reminds me- for time, there's no dole
I can stop at mark and sob indeed
But a purpose lives, over I feed.