Westward on the high-hilled plains
Where for me the world began,
Still, I think, in newer veins
Frets the changeless blood of man.

Now that other lads than I
Strip to bathe on Severn shore,
They, no help, for all they try,
Tread the mill I trod before.

There, when hueless is the west
And the darkness hushes wide,
Where the lad lies down to rest
Stands the troubled dream beside.

There, on thoughts that once were mine,
Day looks down the eastern steep,
And the youth at morning shine
Makes the vow he will not keep.

Crawling intellectuals,
Brawling interceptionals,
Stairway's that leadeth thou to thine end!!

Entrancic scening summer fairies,
Prophetics turned to visionary,
Thy mission's uncompleted in thine own home....

Sorceretic witchdoctors,
And jesus Christ mockers,
Snubbers and grubber's all as one!!

Journeymen hath thou learned a trade?
Junction friend hath thou burned thy craze?
The tallismen steady hand is gone!!!

Violate me as thou will,
Smile as thine shaky stick can ****,
Volition's grand view is seen!!!!

Vocal vitality is a blessing to those who brand their name,
The wanderer's flame knows no fancied escape...

Absorment Temper's flare adhesively,
Treatingly accidental!!!

Despondency shows up for the destination thou has thought to receive,
Hath thou given up yet?

Where at last shalt thou find thy predetermined destiny???

Around the clock
     By lot we rot
To rag and bone
                            Abandonned
As the hour and
     The second hand
Seem both locked-up in
                            Handcuffs.
We lost our mules
     To Arkansas,
In parts we saw 'em
                             Vanish,
While we both stood
     In silence, blood
Cov'rin' ev'ry
                              Canvas.
If they'd only had
     The medicine
And met us in
                              Ratón,
This mess we're in
     Would fester some,
Then just as soon
                              Pass-On;
But now on the edge
     Of the tiresome sea,
Each pledging
     The other to
                              Stone,
We push and shove
     Our hand in some glove
In one fast move
     Will be
                              Gone.
Meanwhile, the tides
     (Poised by Poseidon)
Rise and
                              Disappear;
Hound dogs bay
     Beyond the bluff;
Bandits watch the
                             Pier;
And I look thru
     My lookin' glass;
You, into your
                            Mirror,
Both only saying
     Anything
The other wants to
                             Hear.
Though ev'ry dime
     Was lent, we spent
Them all to keep us
                             Floatin'
As autumn rolled
     Past summer's fold;
Now, winter holds the
                              Ocean.
No matter how
     We stack the deck
Our cards cannot be
                              Chosen
So the ones at hand:
     Take 'em fast!
Before the river's
                              Frozen;
But,
     Taking too fast
     Won't make it last;
Watch out!
            Don't crash!
                             Bewarned!
A ******* gets faster
     In the late second-half
Dry,
     In the eye of the
                             Storm.

At midday
     You insinuated,
Beneath the noontide
                            Sun
That I'm someone
     Who multiplies,
But will divide by
                            None;
Who swears he can
     Be counted on, yet
Never counts past
                             One;
Who cannot tell
     All he's lost
Apart from all he's
                             Won.
Who to and fro
     And back again
Has witnessed ev'ry
                              Sky,
From Anchorage, to
     San Juan Hill;
From Bangor, to
                             Hawaii;
Who, facing off with
      History, compiled
On the
                             Sly
A litany of victory
     By trickery,
Where
                            I:

                 Took on one sun
                       Won by one
                                           Handsome
                 Rook took from
                        His high-hilled
                                           Mansion
                 Took ev'ry bird,
                        Turned word into
                                             Anthems;
                 Took the book
                          And shook out
                                              Ransom;
                  Met Set head-on,
                         Left 'im severed and
                                              Scrammed,
     ­             Put roots to soil
                         And oiled the  
                                               Cams;
                  Ran and ran after
                         That sure-footed
                                                Ram;
                  Stood under the light
                          With the swarm of the
                                                ******

Dont get me wrong:
      Life is long;
But time is swift,
      Adrift and
                             Blazin'
But you'll get burned
       If you don't learn
Advice is better
                             Taken
But
     Taking too fast
     Won't make it last;
Read!
       It's written in
                              Red:
A ******* gets faster
     In the late second-half;
'tleast, that's what
      The last one
                               Said...

a commune back home not hippie
buy 300, no 500 acres great land
in Codroy or misty high hilled Avalon
built great big house wraparound porch
beset by rocking chair by the sea yet
in the woods at end of road all brown dirt

growing gardens, herb and vegetable
pulling weeds but keeping good green ****
brewing beer by own hand
group work but not always group think

friends lovers writers growers givers
all come to stay
making great pots of stew and strange brews
awakening brought far from Peruvian Torch homeland
telling stories all somehow great fables and anecdotes for life and living and love and everything that's good in the long run

at night over bottles on beaches by fires
we worry these are funeral pyres
for our great little social experiment
fear of leaving loving womb
of isolated salt fish by sea commune

real world so crass&brash; an unctuous affair
where here instead guitars, ukes
silly screaming little buddhas recite poems
by gleaming eye fireside

i am pleased to meet
the one you love,
the one who doesn’t know me,
the one who cannot tell
the difference between
the brave curve
of the moon
and the silver hilled *****
of your spine
when you bend to kiss
the dead flowers
that forgot to grow
at my feet

The universal path is a windy link
in reflections it bounces in dryness
the wood wounded with unknown
phases tainted with fists that hints

The bareness of the desert lays untold
roasted and unbroken in resistive dunes
torn and un-tuned in the rusty mirage
bareness reformed by the scorning sun

See those hungry eyes digging in hilled sands
the lost hope lusting for a love swayed to last
memories of the crux, the faded in between
the withering leaves burnt to grimy coal

The tidal waves erupts as pure bliss builds
such loneliness buried in ocean depths
kneeling at the mercies of the greenery
pending rejuvenation to harmonious trance

On the edge of the bridge toes tiptoeing
the cord unfurling in, over and within
waters paints in hues of silverly blue
a sacrifice to reign in the depths of the shore

the windowsill is hilled,
shoved into lumps and valleys,
too frothy for flight,
heavy to be held.

the pane of glass separating
twenty degrees from a cool sixty six
would shatter neatly,
somewhat like poured sugar
or the skin of a balloon,
stretched tightly and then
released.

the asphalt is stubble,
unshaven uncleanliness, blackened
by ages of rain and snow, seattle slush,
still elastic when a rubber
ball hits it, throwing
material back,
to be clutched in a moist
chubby palm.

calm, pale,
smoothed by the run through air,
skin traced by blue (ish green)

I woke early
this morning in Lisbon
before the birds chirped
the traffic shattered
the silent room in the
Sao Bento Guesthouse
and the old tram
struggled, groaned up
the steep hill

She stirred beside me
even and measured breaths
I turned on the white light
and read Pessoa
and Florbella Espanca
poets of the past
of the hilled city
split poetic personalities
the one
she, the other,
a killer of
her self

"Abre os elhos e encara a vida!"
advice not taken

today we'll walk those hills
ride those trams
and eat seafood along the Tagus
as we ignore
the passing
of our lives

open your eyes and face your life

Down a hilled road, overlooking
The high lift sunlit watered land

The rest moves and I stay

The windows are softly jarring
Bathed in leaks of this wine dusk
Behind graying street trees
Speaking tired and wisely
As I walk home.

The sounds unwrap inside
Out of darkness. A drone,
Artificial creation, a family
Of starving happy insects,
My feet placed carefully
On these birds’ earth.

The rest moves

And suddenly I have fallen into
Something of your eyes again
Walking home, knowing death again
Spinning in its nauseating peace
There and not. Holding only
What is bearable in my lungs
Of the view, the other homes, so far
Under the same light.

You have gripped even my dusk.
No, it has been my dusk
Wanting to grip you.
For I have always stayed here

You have always moved

I will enjoy listening
To the sound of
Starving happy insects tonight.

Misty hilled
Eugenio
like a rainbow
comet
exploding from the
Tree of Life.
The jaded madmen
and women
who lost their luster
long ago.
They are all on a
one way trip
in reverse
and empty of all verses.
The fluid love
that has kept me
alive
is dry and dying
like the
bones of Ophelia
before
she bit the big one.
And the no-nonsense
physicians
say it aint right
to freeze in bluejeans under
bridges
while sippin' on
dreams of wild foxes
in endless
wastelandscapes.
We could
prove em incorrect
by holding
our breath underwater
for fourteen
trembly
seconds
then erupt from the tide
w/ hearts
as hard
as diamonds.
It's a lucrative business
to
pull the wool
down till we think
of nothing.

Accretion,
                     Tis I seek!
Permission,
                     Of ones love to keep!
Partition,
                     I gaze for none!
Secretion,
                     Of child play fun!
Direction,
                     To giveth me her hand!
Completion,
                      A wedded band!
Ommision,
                       I want none more!
Suspition,
                       Please close thy store!
Assumption's,
                       I enquireth zilch!
Corruption,
                       Sleeps with filth!
Attention,
                       Wrap me as waddling infant!
Kitchen's,
                       To cook a meal of terrace's far and distant!
Affectation,
                       Of two fallen cherub's!
Alleviation,
                       Of the bug's and scarab's!
Abstraction,
                       I paint as a picture,
Benedictions,
                       Of one pellet, two triggers!
Complications,
                       Of breathing do I feel,
Irrigations,
                       Another deathly pill!
Saturation,
                       Man made queens to beasts!
Irritation,
                       Where art thou? Queen of settled feast?
Obliteration,
                       I lurk the high hilled tops!
Incarceration,
                        Where ghoul's meet thy cops!
Palliation,
                        To make sensual love in darker nights,
Excruciation,
                        Where art thou light?
*******,
                        Of kings and consort souls,
Acceptation,
                        Wilt thou come mine love?

O People of time’s salutations, my love is gathering seashells by that hilled windy gathering place the sea (like dim worlds vexed with sound in the stuck conch, to undo this day the scaly wrongs that scuttle in the soul’s sea); for gull-winged griefs that drop their vowels on spat hills of light, my love is gathering portents like sea-made money for the truths found there in untruth, and hearing them there, I see them there:

Summer folk that come from cold to these great gathering hills and find one breasted ounce of ocean silver to keep like crying know that taut pants cringing came, the color of kisses, scattered on the sand grains like arms and legs. O People of time’s salutations, this shell and ear will bray there for the weeped hills that leaving love labored.

Folk of autumn come from fear, wracked by youth, grow old there where the hills recede — gather dust of water to glow the sun over with knowing that came too late. Sad gone days lean to and fro in the salutating tide that tugs the land for lack of care. O People of time’s salutations, this conch and ear will hear them scratch as the days go out to sea.

The morning folk that come from shadow gather wand watered proverbs in the still light. Great hills for these mad people who froth like waves for the sayings of ages. O People of time’s salutations, though eternities implode like new suns in their slow gatherings, shell and breath can not blow them out beyond sound’s ill reach where the sea goes endlessly rocking and mocking their finitudes.

The folk of evening come from labor, their wasted souls on hill and sullied waves dropped like shells in wrong places. Muscles matted on sanddollar days yield no virtue’s wages. Work is a shark’s tooth for the weary. O People of time’s salutations, shell and ear will hear them breathe though the sun going down can not.

Shell and ear for these splay sounds that daunt and dabble (by a sea of hilly days go on). But to pity and praise this great endeavour, my love is seashell gathering by that same great sea while the waves go pithily out on this hill and moneyed water like thoughts and implications. O People of time’s salutations, this conch and ear will trumpet eternities in the long-winded tides that walk there.

The 5am jet lag settles in
and I’m adjusting into the new,
he takes my suitcase down for me to the bottom of the hilled road
and clouds and looks through the glass.
In love.