Expansed in cloudless skies
Afternoon's promised all
A starry sacred finger.

Numberless specks of light,
Organized by time and weight.

So condensed specks of dust -
Some dialed in for sight, face up
Just in time for the exhibition:
Grandeur on a scaleless slate.

This is the reason to rhyme.

You may say "not at all"
But I prefer to step and fall
Into the black as though it were
so close to me - to reach and stir
with a hand the nebula's wisp
made of things both soft and crisp
hot and cold, as season's due
year in and out- Still - and true
Ceasing not but to amaze
So flicker the Pinpoints - spots of haze
Never changing - still they move
Moving change - hangs still above.

Only when I turn down my eye
Blades of grass that live and die
speak this ancient tale to me
of dartling lights and infinite sea.

Yet everywhere I look about and see that everywhere's about
I find myself lost in oceans of one,
A frozen sea that feels like the sun.
Ship to ship I wish to link
But having cast off my way to blink
I sink (into a hue)
I think (as if I have a clue)
I sink (then, into blue)

Out of my heady-ness there comes yawn,
The same readiness that forsees a dawn,
Witnessing miracles can't go on
So in I meander from the lawn.

battered in a rat infested caged existence
blood soaked rat with visious hanging teeth on side dripping blood
enclosed in the memory of a torn ****** to let go of any inhabition
eyes with spots having holes dull in the mouth
a cemetery of vast enchanted means
the tombs of those would open
ghostly ghouls would a rise
shades of grey in blackened death stench gore
there was a little girl sitting on a tombstone
"Hey little girl how are you today ?"
mourners passed the crypt left unaided with body intact
the violation of the innocent left tired dangling in the wind
a blackened Timberwolf used to frequent those grounds
taking the heads off of corpses for a thrill ride
cold hearts piercing with screams of exotic frantic ensued
the cemetery was vast and expansed
blind bats fly overhead at night to frighten the visitors in their mourning
shades of blackened drapery permeate the exterior of the vault that held the crypt

tired grave yard workers took a *** in back of the vault every chance that they could get
my heart was pulsating almost fever pitched inside running a mile a minute
the cemetery was once again vast but empty
in the morning when I arose I heard the pitter patter of torn bats in their embankment tower
water flowing as if caged fools in peril were in the back
the sound of a coyote howls out in exotic fashion
out of every twist and turn here's what I learned
the cemetry can't do you wrong
a call for better days