dès que dès que dès que
and dès que the day has dribbled
and dès que the day has driveled
and dès que the day has scribbled
onto a plastic table of wood.
dès que the day could sing
dès que the day could mend
dès que the day could tell
us to drop our fainting pens
we'd be trampled under the roll of the hours.

step             off
down
         into
      blood red dust
                                    of
rusted dreamed
                    thoughts
     of steeled determintation
bought                  low by
                    times patient tick

word drought

                     poems        
                                      carcassed    ­      
                about   around
            where here
where                 ....ether

wade through and wade through
this vacant unloved space
           to sit under              
                                             ­                              the  ego skeleton tree
     here to listen
                     to the
    brain bone leavings
                  rattle and sough
in memorie's
             faint primative breeze
       as we  ......await the
..muse...all     monsooning..
  .. soothing         rain  
                                  fall
to come ... festooned....
         with the petrichor
                           fragrance of wild word blossoms and
              newly wrought  
                     thought blooms
until        then
                       i sit drooling,
driveled,
        words into shifting dust
destined to
              fly                     and
     flicker away
        on the
              next worlds sigh

fare well  good bye  adieu
               namaste

till again
              i await
              the soft feathered bliss
         kiss of rain

My mouth is burned
By the acidic tastes
Of the orange rinds
And mistakes
Of the toxic paste
Driveled from my head
And out my throat
With haste,
And yet,
I never let go
Of the next bite.

a quest to see the dream of you
long faint cries of driveled hue

through her shattered cries I can still hear
a faint whisper of a pin drop

solace the mast of a chalice place
eyes with spots having holes

you suffer in silence onto the next episode
to hold you in my arms as a cage of fear

to numb the inner silence from the pain
not having you in my arms is driving me insane

thirst for words to quench our desire
take it higher then a funeral parlor

she dances in a ring of fire
yet throws off its challenge with a shrug

to love is the mere essence of my existence
we must endure with hearts saturated with truth

this is in order to withstand the true test of time
sublime

heavy hearts out on a whim
we have come to depend upon a power greater then self

some insist on putting that book right back on the shelf
still will take her higher then ever before

to realms unknown as high as the eagles does soar.