Shall I return to poems scribed of old?
That once with each a turn and covered page,
bereft a seeping fume that laden bold
and from that glyphic smudge - her cursive stage.

For still upon the tips of ink parades
the lissom bride beheld with gentled hand,
and prose's vigil neath the dust pervades;
that either I immerse within, or strand.

Though lyric embers flare her ardent kiss,
embedded texts peruse a lover's loss,
then should the torment forge my own abyss
the depths shall shadow me amongst the moss.

At least in chasms; beloved reels inside
so dwell shall I - where love has not yet died.

Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea?
or hast thou walked in the search of the depth?
Have the gates of death been opened unto thee?
Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth?
declare if thou knowest it all.
       Job 38: 16-18

Oh that the desert were my dwelling place,
With only one fair spirit for my minister.
That I might forget the human race,
And hating no one, love her only.
       Lord Byron,Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage

I walked alone into the waste
in search of rivers—not a taste
of water could I find
to liquidate my mind.

Under the sun in vanished lakes
alive with scorpions and snakes
I sought within my soul
her limpid watering hole.

The mogollón once hunted here
as piñon pines disclosed the deer
but now not even bones
remained among the stones.

Scattered beads and the odd spearhead
my visionary soul misled;
the moment was my home
and I was free to roam.

Burial caves of ash and silence
spoke in tones of bygone violence—
grinding stones lay broken:
her archeological token.

I found a *** within a niche
still balanced well, despite the pitch
as if the owner’s urn
awaited her return.

Amidst the fragments, free at last
in potsherd patterns of the past
I followed ancient streams
through arid zones and dreams.

Exploring a dry riverbed
unraveling her golden thread
while stepping off a ledge
descending from the edge,

I almost trod upon a snake
and quick adjustment had to make.
Reluctant viper-battler,
I flinched. It was a rattler.

As my right foot continued down
I saw the scales and dusty brown;
Mere inches from its head
the imprint of my tread!

The serpent was too cold and slow
to strike a poisoned morning blow
The sun still in the east—
I swerved and missed the beast.

The desert’s charm advanced from there;
She showed me sights I barely dare
to tell lest I sound singed . . .
My mind she so unhinged.

I stood before the gate of vision
rapt in shadowed indecision
gazing in the maw,
unsure of what I saw:

A ruined mineshaft’s empty grin
that mocked and whispered: “Come within.
The words of Job are here
in wisdom born of fear.”

Necropolis; a gaping  portal…
Feeling less than weakly mortal,
deep I stared inside;
allured yet terrified.

A passage to the depths of dread:
the Book of Job, the sleeping dead.
I barely now recall
yet understood it all…

Still thirsting through her arid land
divining truths in shifting sand
I ventured on in vain,
beseeching God to reign

The javelinas mocked my quest
beguiled me onward, further west
where Dutchmen hide their gold
and Apache tears are sold.

Her rainbow shades and distant mesas
silhouetted, paint her face as
nobly as the lands
her presence still commands.

Her beauty smiled: a virtual face
of glyphic pre-Columbian grace
decentralized desire
in sublimated fire…

She led me to the springs of life
my moonlight maid and desert wife;
my nights upon the mountains
in search of spectral fountains.

Ex-nomad of the mythic west
my unfound treasure now confessed;
her deserts had me smitten…
for her my poem’s written.

See the reasons warring

who fools fools for money then makes the king pay

that one m'y be the culprit

whence came the king thing?
I mean it did not pop full formed
into mito mom one

fining
day as a re of sun set its eye on a
particular nail hole
in the tin roof corrugated

good word, rug ated, like walked on, y'llthank?

a collective loss of soul
noticed by the few

mad men who felt some call to lie'n when
facts,
camera obscura facts, proved they saw
I saw
light bent
through a nail hole
brought the sunset to my wall

or all of it that mattered,
the part I saw...

face? No,
yeah, I could see that,
If I could see what you say you suppose

supports your pre-sense presence if it ivity
whither Grammarelyearly versions

howled as I claimed the idle words holding true

riches from the stone re
jected jeckled and hidden, lapis,

was there a gem with in and a gen with out?
Ah, he sang that line

Ragpicker evolved to Recycling Frontliner Earth day Youtube stars
what a job. Save the world...

stumbled and
lost the thread

fracture  ice cracked ice mud shrunk in from
hidden  edges where the weakest

or most open

imagine you are with me in the mud

bubbling old ideas settle peace

fully here fully there, the ever over
flowing where
we met.

?¿ yen yanker ****** ain't it?¿

hiero-glyphic ifs effeing ity ness. per se.
mud shrunk in from
hidden n-degree edges where the weakest

or most open bonds are loosed on earth as they are
ever
let go let be let

until he be taken, obscureference,
Bubble Bible fact' never acted as if I knew

he who letteth shall let until he be taken out of the way.

may be today. lest we forget

imagine you are with me in the mud

In this day and age
Where can you find a glyphic?
I’d like to hire one!

Hero’s Wells
A Hero whose Eros
Will copulate
Through pounds and kilos,
Through Matters of Gates,

In Strife immature
To Daring rushes:
Love – Tissue, Texture, -
Your Picture is Hush!..

A Husher – a Hero –  
In Ero – Glyphic
Describe Body-spiller
Ascending the Peak,

And melting the Ices,
And streaming through Rocks,
From Eros his Crisis,
From Warriors – Rogues!..

That’s Conquest’s Surrender
Is sweeter than all;
A Hero – a Spender,
A Waster – his Whole

Will stealthily capture:
For captively Stealth
Enjoys Dreamer-Catcher
Who found his Wells!..