I’m not spoken anymore
Dried in a bottom of dust
Let my soul sing
With fire sparks tonight
Can’t I get along alone
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.
Forget every song
I’ve written all wrong
Glory and frail,
Perfect and undone
Startling morning sun
My breath: heavy hung
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.
Empty this bucket
Lost in a sea
Between footsteps
Greeting me
And it’s dark
Close my eyes
To forget
For Coyote whispers
And Dog whispers back.
I’m interested, like the moon is interested in a ruksack.
Take me home, take me there, I want to see where you were made. And I’ll bring my spare tire so I don’t get stuck along the way, because I know a Legend of Boulders that weigh the most upon the road.
But after twilight, after my omnipotent vision among Cassiopeia disperses with Sun’s warmth and glow, I’ll still be looking to the sky, watching for each bomb to blow, each shifting sliver of this silver moon as it orbits slight off of thirty one.
I’m interested. I want to hear the whistle, for without the whistle, I know not who treads there though I’ve heard the Legend told here.
I’m not the beast of a nothing place
I’m rich in earth
And stoic like pine of a thousand years.
I don’t look you in the eye,
I devour your hormone
And wax upon each death of your breath.
In death, I spy;
In wind, I vanish;
In grace I am all fingertips
Touching sensitive spots
That have found their way
Into my eyes of a blank canvas.
And this is not the answer in you,
It is only the place I once knew.
I am moody
I’m the gravel inspiration
Of a moonlit breath
Standing naked against
Each whispering hallow
Deep within consciousness,
Though cackles be heard.
And here I stand,
Abreast the fight
Holding a heartache
That’s dazed
But still conscious
With an armful
Of medicine
Tunneling out the holes
I havent made time
To mend yet.
Oh, how art forgiveth.
How loose
Can these boundaries be?
How can thy closing eyes
Retreat once into dream
Twice into heavens,
With hardly a thread
Seperating this moment
And to their’s.
This smoke and mirrors
Is my pain
As I walk in your memory
I fall alone
On unspent words
My hair,
Lifelessly pressed
Against the glass.
I’ve learned about my veins
That run across
My open palms;
For too long have I
Looked into thee
For an answer
I cannot find.
And so my last drip of blood
Drawn from me
For you
Shall stain the soul
From whence I came
And follow me
Into the rain.
For this, I shall complain
I shall write in blood
Each passing thought
That whispers at my mind,
For it is only in this exalt
My beacons of hope shall arise
And light my way
Away from these depths
I have so tread too long.
Why didn’t I see your eyes?
Still I tried
For this vision I haven’t found
And your browns, greens,
Forever changing
As landscape’s seasons change
And my footsteps
Through my soul’s golden copse
Recapturing.
Why didn’t I see your eyes?
Even though my feet are as tired
As cobblestoned history,
Gray hair grows upon my patience’s mind
Though burdened with none but thoughts
It is mine golden copse
Retiring into my hallow
That comforts even in
My burning question’s fever.
Why didn’t I see your eyes?
What takes you away?
What brings the lines
From bowels to forehead,
And understands nothing
Of what’s seen before you?
What holds you
Like a scarf on a cold subway
Clicking away
In a nice rattle
Of destination approaching?
What holds time so still
That a lifetime is lived
Experienced
Played
And given
With a softly exhaled breath
Standing atop
Naked and pointed?
What holds you steady
So that even rainbows don’t move
As you traverse this landscape
Narrowly escaping
A landslide of memories
Nobody told you to write down?
Today I sit as a rock
Thick and still
Voluntarily receiving
From all what’s around
But remaining unchanged
Until at last
Cold sets in
To await some more.
I am drained of life
Though calming gray Moon
Shines full into my vision.
My mornings wake
With such vast opportunity
Yet I slouch my way
Into an odyssey;
Blurring noises
From Nature’s highway
Busy outside my open window.
This tea alerts me
It brings my senses
Towards the front of my tongue
So that I can find my voice
Rescued from the deep depths
Of a tortuous night.
And here, upon my tongue
A caress felt within my memory
Time spent in my youth
Unabided,
For Spring spirit in Summer Sun
Reaches no Plymouth too soon,
And this warm milk and honey
Resting on my lips
Shall be enveloped by
Moon and by Sun.