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.
Seperatism loses me
It’s a lost art
Guided by a nobody train
And nobody to sing
Nobody has sung.
I look into your eyes
And I see missing
I see wallowing sorrow
And a stained glass window
Echoing a cold statue
With angel wings
Sainted.
We can be friends
But I wont ask to meet you there
Instead
Walking alone
Listening to nothing more
Than each voice inside my head.
Days like this take me away
Floating on a memory
Thought that I had never come
Like a loom, a forever weave.
On a cold winter day
Swept up in a breeze
Frozen and exhausted I
Little crunching flakes.
Eagle of thunder
My holiest of unions
Breathe into me desire
Upon wings I’m no martyr.
Callused and painful
I’ve lost Eagle
Blown in the wind
It went so high
Into the sky
Upon a new mission,
Found a gliding wing
And left me here;
Eagle gone free.
It found me on
One cold night
In Northern Ontario
Blew in on a cold gale
Upon the torn up and buggered banks
Of Huron in a golden hour.
Like a mystic thought gone,
Eagle and me
Our fond memory.
In a screeching halt
The red tail swept in
Wings flashing
Gray and black
And a golden brown
Of its vibrant tail
Left me speechless
As I watched.
So mysterious,
So close to home,
So brave in its approach.
Then just as quick
Off in flight
Those big wings began to wave
Elegant and smooth
Like a ballroom dance
Off, beyond my sight.
I am not an angel.
My wings broke,
And the sky laughed
While sun spit pink
Upon both edges
Of the letting horizon,
And just as trees
Bagan to bend
Like wings of a crow
Moving again,
My two feet
So placed
Into thick layers
Of mud, unfolding,
Began to tremble
And quake
Further losing development
Of each gray spot of mind.
I’m not sure how this thing Time has passed
It seems like I just awoke
With little birds singing harmony
To the morning’s sky, so red.
Hardly had I time to think
About the tasks awaiting,
Hardly had I recited my praise
For ever blooming life
Unfolding it’s very wings
Right beyond my window.
It was not my claim,
Not could it ever have been
To be lost with controlled madness
On a motorcycle
Going fifty kilometers per hour.
The roads were too dusty,
Too slow,
Too quiet for forgiveness
To be called out
In a manner that did not support
Each dying ember of humanity.
And the glasses were of the new world,
A signal for misunderstanding
– Modern mythological errors
Combed with a brush of the future.
I merely sat there,
I did not dust off the seat
I did not wear deceiving clothes
I did not paint my hair black
Or red or green or blue,
And my wings ever grew
Until I no longer sat alone
Accompanied by history untold
That whispered flickers
Of a language with no words
To my clouded eyes
Laid bare.
I do not know what I want to hear
Sweet voices
Tambourines
Drawn out organs
Single noted cellos.
Sounds have become adjusted
To a key un-lay,
Not entirely audible
But clearly a deeper feeling
That rests not
Incus and Malleus…
Deeper.
Tap roots of an ancient breath
Hammered into shape,
Ten thousand soldiers,
Fire and Dragon’s wings.
When I flew upon these wings
I spoke to you in thunder
Carried on up through my eyes
Left me ever wilder.
Clouds became my lily pads
Dancing I shook the ground
And when I played the Moon a song
Sweet Sun came around.
Braced I landed on both my feet
Flexing as I prepared
Passion ready, nostrils flared
Stretched every sinue clear.
There I lay neigh blinking
Wide open you stared at me
We lasted here not long enough
Patience of routine’s design.