He and She,
a cute looking couplet.

I wonder why they were
divided in the first place.

I wonder if this is a cycle;
If he, with time, is me once more.

I don't want to traverse circles
because the curves are so curious and,

The cat is dead,
and in my dreams he's screaming.

Why can't I write without wondering
why she's a bird, and to where she's flown?

The old man murderer
with his own young face crying behind him.

what is relevance?

Green bees
and the dust is there with them
in the air.

Is there a such thing as stillness?
If so, it's hard to find.
It's anomalous,
like moss on rolling stones,
not likely.

The feeling like
insect symphonies,
one thousand beats a measure,
smells like rubber
when it's resting
but fire says otherwise.

It won't stop.
It's a heart beat,
it's a lung,
it's the static flashing
forever
waiting behind closed eyes
and it WON'T STOP!

Smoke sighs itself into
tight spaces
from fingertips,
from the dark sides of skyscrapers,
and the city lights
hold up the sky
to give us just enough
space
to breathe underneath.

I'll think they should let go.
So that the blanket falls
surely, sweetly,
like death,
onto those shoulders
that don't remember warmth anymore;

because the city lights are cold,
and the dust in the air is never still.

Here kid, look at this
We took all of those star yonder
And put um right in this little thingymajiger
Quite a sight, ain't it
A'course, we couldn't put the stars back

Oh well

We can whip out some more
Just ask whobewhatie
He's got all the fixin's for stars
A'course
They won't be as bright as before
And there's no guarantee on how long they'll burn
But, well, gee
Just look at that there thingymajiger in your hand and tell me that's not worth allthemoneyinyourpocketsandthensome!

What'd'ya mean y'ain't got no money?
Ah, never mind
Have a good life kid
Sorry about the stars............

THERE IS NO GOD in the eye of the storm

with death and ***
I am obsessed

the lift of chest
the wait for rest,
the motion between
the trough and the crest

Come bother,
give me your hand
so that I may let go
of my own.

I have seen the cycle of the moon
time and time again,
and in that sweeping sequence
I stand in so many colors,
in so many faces,
spinning round and round
like liquid
until I am stole away!

I wish to remove these robes
and be seen in barren.
Stark as the sea!
White like December pines,
still green underneath.
For when i'm release
the colors become untangled
but never die.

Come sister,
give me your hand
so that I may let go
of my own.

flesh rubbed raw
under a heavy coat of rime,
painted on by the night
with wind, her paint brush.

the blush
of vermilion hue
undone the next day by the sun.
he releases the red,
and the earth takes
what was always hers.

it's not a matter of give and take
when we share the same hands;
and when they shake
there are no demands,
only miles
and miles of sand.

no flowers here,
only the sun,
and then only the moon,
and only the sand stretching
in heavy sheets across rock.
the sleeping beast beneath
is unlocked.

let it eat me alive.
I am survived,
and it's killing me.