these are but sagas for lovers and haters in love
who love to hate but are in hate with love

these poems

of couples who exist to exist
and to redefine Is

these are but stories for the sons of bleary eyed fathers
who tread the same threads across dilated garters

and heroic stoics be proud!
these are but fables of folly
and of transparent whim

of hunters’ beguilement
of huntresses’ ****

of mechanical males who practise old tricks

these are but tales of maidens and heads
of neverending aims nevertheless transfixed

these are but poems
of Envy and Trust

poems that unbe the unfair
for the sake of unlove

and while mechanical feelers probe seas of flesh dealers
and reels of film cast doubts of Enough

these are still
but poems of Trust

In the house of death the old ones chant
strange couplets & mysterious narratives-
that like the tumble-weeds wisp through the picket fence....
& flows, sweeping down the dark byways & pathways.....
echoing out over the empty lawns-
they hold sway, beckoning otherworldly beings.

& on the porch my girlfriend sits
swinging on the lover’s seat
with her long glimmering hair radiant
more luminous than fireflies a glorious raiment-
& as she swings the floorboards creak their own riddle.

A unicorn from the world next-door prances up the gravel road.....
& places his soft enigmatic head upon her lap...
& as she strokes the snow-white curls of his mane.
carresing his horn with her long fingers.
The unicorn closes his eyes & falls asleep-
Trusting in their affinity........

The elms & chestnuts sing
as the stars & moon skinny-dip.
In the throats of their branches
the limbs of the trees begin to leaf....
Surly the world is coming to an end.....

As the huntresses pull up
in the driveway in their pickup trucks.
Humming with their sharp spears:
“so many unicorns from the world next door
are eating up the antique roses of civilization
in the flower beds of providence
Unicorns are emptying our dying fountains.”.
They whisper through the spaces of their teeth....

& as the sky unfolds with alien constellations.
the brook behind the house cries itself bitter-
the bulrushes & the tangleberies,
the rumpleleworte & rhubarb wither
next to the apiary of treachery
& then our the fountains die.....

when the conflict of demons brings the realms end,

we see it thus and take to the sunless sky,
my friends the gods are cruel,
the arrow as left thy huntresses hand,

my soul crafted for retribution,
ripples materialize on the depth-less expanse,
to become the dew that quenches the cosmos,

but their hopes are scattered by contention,
one is a hero,
one shall wonder the universe,
the last is taken captive,

the breeze ripples over the ocean surface,
legend shall whisper,
hero of the dusk,
healer of creation,

by scarlet rose

I asked the tired clichés, to do away
With everything I feel for you.
They yawned they didn't have the strength, nor the murderous intent
To see a task like that one through.
I asked the eggs in the trees
To fall and join me on the ground.
On hearing my scream, their Mother
Flew on down
And she sang to me
So delicately

Of how a yolk in a shell in a bed
Is like a brain in a skull in a head

Insofar as it's exactly where it needs to be
Yet oh so, oh so very easily
Tempted away.
By hollow huntresses like me.
And so I explained,
There's a bottle in my hand, oblivion
Doesn't know my first name.
It hasn't spread to my heart, though I know it's weight
For I've carried some shame.
But I was taught to feel gratitude
The same way I feel my own blood
-feel it coursing through me as the sun hits the autumn leaves.

I was taught to feel the same, about love.

For as long as I live and breathe.
But every day I get a little less sure on how it's achieved
Or if it will ever be
Ever be enough.