with flowers for the moonlight
the fright she bid goodbye
stars and leonids sparkled the night
like a wino in the midst with acquired dreams
I audit this blinky blue eyed sunrise
the two little satellites melted away
musical notes insured by a common man
harvested by the embraceable grim reaper
in this bizarre love pentangle
they arrive with their swarm of locusts
the thieves of silence!!

oh what a darkness of consistency
grows around this silence
that of a lonely sentence
fallen to earth by itself
offering hesitated thought
that which conceives, yet conceals
a deep misery
an unhappiness that blinds the eyes
that does in its silence circle like poisoned incense
around a badly carved pentangle
squeezing tears from the corners of clenched eyes
forming a violent trembling
from neck to ankles
its silent translation a feeeling
of immence tension vibrating through the body
Ah, this fallen silence
is the beauty that Isaw, I see
the change incredible that brings
this silenece to me rather that someone else
where bliss does come down
and envelope in a mist of passionate lips embrace
imersining itself in a liberating tumultious emotonal experiance
resurfing as internsified passion
intricate in its dipiction
dazzling in its dencely textured matrex
of intimacy in its silence; its fallen silence
the silence of a kiss
that kiss
his kiss
my first kiss with another boy

You'll tell me that
you hate this
neighborhood,
& the midnight

adventures
I had years ago
down Dahlia St
& Georgia Ave

will strip away,
thin, ******.
I'll notice
the broken walk,

the dead grass,
the trash gathered
in the raw verge,
I'll be embarrassed.

You'll be unhappy
in the new place
you're in, and
I understand but

I won't be able
to reach you.
I'll have learned
by then to shut up,

grip the air on the
silent street, take
some steps back,
let you have

your thoughts.
I won't be able
to save this situation
with magic words

said perfectly
in a pentangle.
I won't be able to
rescue you from

this drift, I'll
only be a tether,
a hand across
the void.

It'll all be new
and foreign
and everywhere is
a walk in the sun.

Washington summer
will be a hanging heat.
Soon I'll chauffeur
you into the slots

of the city, but I'll know
that won't salve
your feelings.
I won't do anything

but walk by your side
until it all ebbs.
Under the radio
tower in this poor

neighborhood
I knew so well,
I'll still my tongue.
I'll step through

the weeds to the home
where I'll hope
you will maybe find
something yours.