I, in blue-dress tie-flowered vines, the brown-root wonder of the greatest lake.

You, the tan-wash whirlwind of the highest brigade, the first glint of silver skipping rocks in the daze.

Slipping past all for a touch, so crystalline, a split-stalk switch with vines intertwined.

Warm and cool in clouds strapped hostage to the sky, with smiles on wet faces breathing in the sunny side.

Look like the flower but be the serpent beneath
Teach for the hour but speak only for minuets
Love for the passion but **** for the pride
Climb for the high, screaming never enough
Remember the happiness
And weep, when you feel its echo.

A unique love owns
Both me and my Father (and brother)
As it's special home's
Found within one another.
So be what you are. Dare and think and move free
But humor always
the lover
your dad raised you to be.

To break free from
existential spin, I will
start a new journey.

Can you walk a poem,
towards unknown, to kiss the
destiny of dying world?

It is adult postmortem
of brain-dead diction,
Why the god failed?

Her eyes are every color
under the sun, and then some-

mostly flecks of golden
kansas wheat and earthy brown-

and when they are green
- i've seen mountains grow
and valley scenes below

-sometimes gray as if they know
winter is coming, slow

-but when they're blue, so blue-
water wells at the fate of the sioux,
and the broken bird's egg, a dog
with three legs, and a sky sky-blue

- mostly, she has kansas in her eyes.

In this life
we are sculpted down
to bone
burned to cinders
and our ash
tossed without regret
into the four winds

I wish I could live.
Be a man.
Find comfort in the sun.

But every cell in my body
revolts against time
cries out against the sun
speaks in tongues
for the sole purpose
of creating an outrage
against God.

Oh Lord!
How did you make us thus?
And why?
Above all
why?

We are made metal
and in the end
alloy with the sun.

Our breath is drawn
to fuel that fire
bring life to a boil
and
if luck prevails
to wake each morning
in comfort
and with a smile.

Perhaps the last sweet smile.

Some days pass by fast like a flash
of white, a young woman
crossing her legs on a park bench

while some nights roll slowly
like dark stockings a widow takes off
at the end of her mourning

but tonight is as black as *******
draped over the light by the bed

a silhouette of a lady in the glow
of a cigarette before morning.