Snow flies
And so shall I fly:
Stable but absent;
Nose towards sky.
White tiger
Plays softly nearby
Pine tree
Getting decorated.
I gift each breath
The bellow of my chest;
Abdomen to rumbling,
Seated like stump.
I seek nothing
And return to nowhere.
My wings of a vision
Leave me numbing home.
There’s a mountain of crows
Crawling about my mind.
Distant snowy peaks
Tall, looming firs
And the faint, eerie howl
Of the wind
Settling through furry boughs.
I dont want comfort anymore
I want slow, agonizing pain
Of cold feet and biting breath.
Let darkness fill my voids
With only the fire
Inside my eyes
Feeding the warmth.
Here, I will stack wood
Against stained boards
Of an ancient vision;
Architectures ancestor
Where notches have been worn
By our rattling wind
That kept the night
Hallowed at home.
What is my voice?
How does it come from within
But it is not of myself?
Would I have been wrong
To have heard it?
I bring my soul to the earth
Both by sitting upon it
By feeling it within my toes
And by listening to it
Sweet songs of assumed innocence.
But then if I stay
How long do my thoughts stray
What ebbs and flows within?
Can I settle down
Upon a dear limb
And become like green foliage?
Setting sun
Reminds me of home
So my home is where I shall roam
And here I slip back
Into my routine
Soul, still here,
Accompanying me.
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 awoke into my madness
Blind, awake
Lifeless but my breath
And all around me spanned vines
Crawling amidst my thoughts
Scaling trees
Leaving me a gnarled world
As if each fruit I picked.
Dreaming as I lay awake
Of fermented terroir
Calmly settling inside the vice
A cork upon thy voice.
Can sweet time carry a vision?
Can it send me notes?
For not too soon shall I carry home
What lay me into madness.
Sincere stars
Like each moment
Unnecessary little hearts.
Carry in a windswept
Memory,
Where’s my limit?
Gone and wrote home
Without it.
And numbers,
Many numbers,
That couldn’t count on
A passion
So I lay there
In a dreamspace
Like a memory;
Long glance.
In a moment,
In a moment
My life.
When the wind blows
I am a moment
Let me be forgotten
For I am fleeting,
Ever needing,
Ever beating
Long in the heart.
For in each moment
There is sweet passion,
No more symantics
Unending lessons
And sentences
Rapture
A long glancing star.
Chilling me, my bones;
Solar vision of a home.
Leave sense alone,
For good can be struck
Gathered at
Legs of a newborn.
Forgive this faintest vision:
Whelping at green gates,
Unable to return this burden
To a rusty hand that remains
Steadlock,
A wooden helm,
For sorcery:
Electric sounds gurgle on.
Mission of lost specifics,
Vague and cold and distant offers
Scrawling deeper into well lit halls
Piano key footsteps;
I’m an anarchist loosing it
Blessed closing song
Holding a chord
Of a subtle melody
Breaking my consciousness.
Cold pangs of my inner heart
Have wildly swung amidst this wind
Clanging loudly against
Metallic edges of home
Where doors have been hung.
To aid my truth voice
In a song of no-mans-land,
I’ve wrapped my steel blades
In a leather sheath
To keep my quivering hand
From starting in a blur.
But pangs in message
– A lonesome call beyond forest’s wild –
Share what can never be drafted,
For a dove doth always take flight
Though eye’s embrace
Captures feverishly each beating wing
Against late mornings glow.
There doth echo
Memory once laid
And dreams yet played
For in a forgotten breath
A clang, a pang,
A caress of death
Deeply embraced
Amidst this inner heart.
In the early morning hour
Wind seems to lay down
Rising sun sets out to warm
Every frosty blade of grass
And when my horse is saddled up
I mount my trusty steed to roam
Every bit of our home range
To find my cows and learn the land
For my life I’m setting out
Warm coffee in the morning
Another day to go about
In this early morning hour.
Working like a dog
Since Ive been meaning to go home
And my good woman
Who I left there
Has the patience of a Queen.
Every day the sweat leaves me
Too tired to go on,
But sun again rises high
Sending me off into the fields.
I smile out there
To the whole expanse,
Thinking how I have been so lucky
To wake beside a beautiful
Human who cares for me,
And then to work amongst the birds
Who sing so playfully
To wish me luck upon my way
Another beautiful day.