Mournful Query

Where was I standing
If in dreaming, every desire was lost
on you?

Sult of swarming foam and balance
attributed to upheavals
winding
and
wistfully
calling to your summer heart.

There where the night came in
I embraced your fragile shadow
and tried to lead you through my war.

But O how the dawn would rip
spasmadically across
blue love-dreams
of feathers and wine,
those brilliant dawns of ours
now shining memoirs.

What I gave to you
You still own.
And I, sunny and sad,
was always just a memory that you
could put away in your rainy-day box of time.

Lost before we met,
In a song that plays forever
In the very oldest part
Of my pulsing brain.

Where was I standing,
from what platform did my back arch sullenly
and weakly?
Through what vibrant fires jeweled and brightly flaming
down the long yesterdays of
timid loss
Did I walk through to find you?

For you I sang louder and more bravely than before-
every atom rising within and
forming a whole golden thunder
named and conquered for you.
As red dawns heaved
and my ribs caved in
My voice was finally ransacked like
Bullets and time.

From what high mountain
does one need to sing
So that such a distant bird,
Shall hear such earnest, burning wilderness?

Refraction (6th Revision)

The hollow sound of

my memory

persists,

Though even

stranded stars cannot

refract this light, now.

It was a blue and

tender

hymn,

and it washed like

wind over the sea-salted

cat-tails,

whistling in their marsh,

harbored closely to the Sea-

in a somber end

to my final summer.

I chose to remember the magic child

abandoned long ago.

Under red skies worlded in war,

wrap't in merciless tremor,

my eyes rose out and ov'r

alone, as I hunger'd for

a storm of peace.

Untitled #58

Of destruction
I heard the last night fall and tremble
tremulously and-hark, but I'll be damned if I
didnt hear those herald angels singin.

Perfumed ups and downs like sweet briny
offerings of just laws.

Detoured, I began to pray for
One better day
Where music floated down
Under blue nights
And angel notes,
Hymn-like mentality seeps
Upwards downwards
all around me
I had to catch my breath
I used to walk there
I used to walk there
And it was alarming to see
The new faces gathered
and huddled together
Like tepid ghosts
on oatmeal fumes.

The skullish thing in the green of the sun watches me closely as I wait a minute and decide to add:

I used to crawl there
I used to crawl there


I just wanted to sing.
I just wanted to bring the spirit
High in to the atmosphere-
anti-gravity verse strikes again.

There were lots of people,
Girls and boys.
Songbirds and warriors
whose blood dripped like a cliche
Whilst we all wonnnnderrrrred
"what's for dinner"
"whats on at 8".

(To me, it became unspeakable
this ignorant acceptance, this doped & gluttoned society,

Sheep to the slaughter, wtf?)
Soon a hallowed wish invaded to
just make it
go away.

Under blue moon songs calling
A revelrie of song-wish falling
Deep in part
on some dismal island of me
Let me sing you now
The night's majestic tis of thee.


Sweet disaster and slurping signs
Abrupt ancient chatter
and
archaic lang synes.

Sleep well, mal-adjusted soul.
Patter lightly, raindrops of Spring.
I will never die.
I will always sing.

Hit me one more:

I will never die.
I will always sing.

Music In Mirabell

by Georg Trakl
1887-1914

A fountain sings. Clouds stand

In clear blueness, white, delicate.

Silent people wander thoughtfully

Through the old garden in the evening.

The ancestors' marble has turned grey.

A line of birds streaks into the distance.

A faun with dead eyes looks

On shadows that glide into darkness.

Leaves fall red from the old tree

And rotate inside through the open window.

Firelight glows in the room

And paints dim specters of anxiety.

A white stranger enters the house.

A dog leaps through decayed lanes.

The maid extinguishes a lamp.

At night the ear hears the sounds of sonatas.

Tango Twilight Blue

Under a shift of sun

and planets wobbly and weak

The backwood fires are lit:



Call me Tango Blue.



I erupt in light and seek the solitude of days,

Every wish just a pebble roiled by the ocean's churn.



Nights will bleed the true sap of the soul

measured in magic increments

Til pride concedes to visionary confession.

Here is where my sea-shoulder glimmers under firefly light,

and here is where the wafted voice of the evening shudder comes:



Tango Evening, Tango Blue -

Tango Blue Stars, Tango Eye,

Seek your worldly dance inside this magic glass

of suns and water and time.



Before I lay my head to sleep in lily twilight blooms:

Safe birds calling to me as Venus shines:

Tango Blue, Tango Blue, Tango Twilight Blue!



After the weaver-bird skips my soul like a warm stone across the sea,

I wholly ordain myself and without permission, Tango Twilight Blue.

Waiting Room

This time I will proceed uninterrupted

by the worn cuffs of loss-

clinging to the dry bones of another day,

I weave myself through the hours and

recall everything so misted with the blur

of a chambered soul

haunted and lost.

My summer trees bear ripening, twilight fruits.

I bear witness to the approaching winds.

Tree With No Wind

For years I hauled up the memory moons in my fishing baskets

To the winds I sang out Chilito humma nakni, nakni! and was alone.

Now I am moon-lit.

I have two hands, I can plant two trees.

One silent, the other singing.

Both, moon-lit.


Green bounty of golden thrumming warm.

My heart grows old and free.

My sighs under starry summer, the blue night sways & swarms

Comets dip themselves in lazy honey.



I paint my arms August cornfield and October blue.

The bones in my hands are native, my steps are soundless as a disc of snow.

A sun blacked face with a Gaelic glimmer.

Two sun-salt shoulders are oceanic.



My animal throat, this indigo pulse is moon-lit.

Walk beside me and feel the dry shift in autumn,

two willows praying for mercy.

This tall Earth, my geologic home.

Every whispering leaf that turned,

I recall this world, so moon-lit.

Lucid Prayer

A wholly exempt strain of verse has crept
And has made me travel one laughing street
Of desire and churches
This flammable rock and resolve.
I owe the world this song
I have lingered in the rain too long
And sun bursting and soothing my head
Is just what the doctor ordered and said
I oughtta go now and suck up the pain
And dont worry bout what gets spilled in the drain
A train wreck of hopes has impeded and softly receded
As I stretch my tongue to catch my thoughts
O golden song release me now--

Release me to the dark night of what must be
So that I may feel the thrumming stars singing
in my shattered veins.

Ever hold me near my song my thoughts my dreams
I have not gained what was lost
In those primordial salt-flats and distant
Wing-beats of withered osprey wings
Tumult and summit and excite me for my
Days have grown weak and the mind
Will never accept that-
The heart will not acknowledge this-
The soul cannot even hear the words

Hotter summer months compass me
Towards lofty galaxies
So that I may speak again
In the tongue of my Native
Prose and prayers
This rock my earth can reel me thru the night
So that I might live one day
like I knew what it was for,
What it was driven on for-

To stand like a cloud and farther than that
To stand even as a minute gone by that knew it
Was missed and wanted-

I can pray all these days but none so strong
As that evening song
The mellow hymn that sprouts right here
In my forlorn city-dreading eye.
The smoke signal that outfoxes the glimmer
Of a society that has impeded me so.

To you, lucid prayer I ordain myself
A castaway romantic, a beggar of lost things:

this child's heart who waits always for the distant singing of the lost cities of stars.

Tuesday Through Red Eyes

Remember the vision thru gray heat and smoke

Rolling thru the city in summer-time with me?


How lost & dying we both were.
I can't accept that I'm still here.


Yesterday the world caved in on me

from below and above

sideways glittering and grinning

So I called on my ghost & scattered Araby quotes

in a drunken asylum of oak-lites.

That was so much better than doing nothing.


Wet, grandiose pledges soon dry by the mouth

of the solar panel love

that we tried so hard to attain.

(Drunk fucking ragtime.)


Now it's nothing

but Misunderstood November: The Flip Side.

Sheepish brandyshine boxcars

lining up sullenly to roll deeper into the ocean shrouded mists

and forlorn entanglements of my wicked lost mind.


The Little Green Flash:

I used to love you so much that it hurt my

tender heart and my lungs would

expand delicious rosebuds in my trembling breast

just to think of you.

Now I walk backwards and just in time to mention
that I still love you the same way.

But this time and space thing?
It fucking sucks, you know.


If I thought you were still cynical I'd probably just add some fresh fuel to your fire and say:

I never meant anything I ever said in my whole life.
Why start believing me now?



Moon-light bicycle rides through the playgrounds of my old schools.

Alienation and the untimely demise of Rum Tum Tugger.

Sunsets, Wine & Song. Poems and beautiful books.

Painting and animals.

The anxiety and the secret insomnias.

The night visitors.

All these things and more

made the child wildly alone.


Seize me, you shameless bitch of a day who comes down hard off the slope of my life

sugaring me sweet like moon drugz and amnesia and all the while an axe held behind your back.

Seize me, hollow day. Cast me into the dust and just end me now.



Tuesday: wandering.

Tuesday: found.

Red eyes drama suicide. Check.


Never lose your mind-control on me.

Never let me out of the bag.

Never let me slip thru your pine-pitch

Northern finger-tips, Love of mine. Check.



-----finis-----

Bite

The day rolls over and blows me far seawards
Where the roiling ocean eats me alive
And cloud-demons shout in my face.

Have I entered the rabid circle?
Have you abandoned me too, sir?
I can only burn like hateful poppies and tar.

Silken memory of what almost was
Ravages my last fragment of sanity;
Sustaining myself vainly with chaos & guilt.

O at long last the western winds have blown up,
My zippo gleaming, shining and ready
Like a pyre in the sun, mocking my cowardly heart.

Here I stand like a ragged ghost in the rain:
I, Slim-Wrack Beggar stand and watch as even Klingsor
Leaves me alone to my work, & my fallen star junk-heaps.

Deliver me to the wretched mouth of God!
For my wings are leaden and my lost soul
Cannot fathom one more fucking year of this.

Just Like Heaven

"Show me how you do that trick
The one that makes me scream he said
The one that makes me laugh he said
And threw his arms around my neck
Show me how you do it
And I promise you I promise that
I'll run away with you
I'll run away with you

Spinning on that dizzy edge
I kissed his face and kissed his head
And dreamed of all the different ways I had
To make him glow
Why are you so far away? he said
Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you
That I'm in love with you

You, soft and only
You,lost and lonely
You, strange as angels
Dancing in the deepest oceans
Twisting in the water
You're just like a dream
You're just like a dream

Daylight licked me into shape
I must have been asleep for days
And moving lips to breathe his name
I opened up my eyes
And found myself alone alone
Alone above a raging sea
That stole the only boy I loved
And drowned him deep inside of me

You, soft and only
You, lost and lonely
You, just like heaven

You, soft and only
You, lost and lonely..."

Regatta 1st Revision

Those days were our wishes streaking,

arcing lazily through the summer dawn.

The timid, moon-sad child within me

attempted to steer the raft and hide from the

blazing sunrise-ship of a shining being, who also dwelled within.



Criss-crossing my fragile wake over the rivers of Night,

never knowing my waterways contained both

little vessels that this one and that one

would sail by each other in,

sometimes waving as if to a ghost we want back,

and sometimes blind to the dual nature

of the foaming green seas of my self.



The rudderless little raft sails on, swirls along the lullabyes of starfields,

high and on fire with

a beautiful sadness, wrapped in the calming

armor of Night, so barnacled by time and grief,

buoyant and unseen by the brutal eyes of the

faceless mariner who steers a shining ship

all through the fears of my bright and burning days.

Regatta

Those days were our wishes streaking,

arcing lazily through the summer dawn.

The timid, moon-sad child within me

attempted to steer the raft and hide from the

blazing sunrise of a shining being, who also dwelled within.

Criss-crossing my fragile wakes over the rivers of Night,

never knowing my waterways contained both

little ships that this one and that one

would sail by each other in,

sometimes waving as if to a ghost we want back,

and sometimes blind to the dual nature

of the foaming green seas of my self.

The rudderless little boat sails on, high and on fire with

a beautiful sadness, wrapped in the calming

armor of Night, so barnacled by time and grief,

buoyant and unseen by the brutal eyes of these bright days.

Corridors: A Crazy Panicked Poem That Leads To A Crystalline Memory From Long Ago

The inquiry has presented itself
peevishly
and what a ghoul of
insipid corridors I walked
thru to get here.

did you hear me you flame throwing
nausea of sunburnt sea sick?

I said I walked thru many
corridors and they were insipid

just to get here!

I wonder sometimes if the muse
has a heartache worse than ours/

I wonder sometimes with gold eyes
roving the tops and turves of galactica
I wonder sometimes
where my life went. with the breeze
or the dark water?

What corridor is it passing thru now?
and can the muse please hear my plea?

I wonder sometimes
why God had to die
and why we had to bear witness
to blackened cornfields
and sacrificial murders
on the night before Halloween

I wonder why sometimes.

I fell at her feet yesterday
I looked down from above
upon myself-
and I looked crumpled.
and I asked,
no I pleaded,
and eventually cried,

Why?

why do dark corridors exist
and why are they so often
insipid?

I am through.
I have nothing else to say
when the burning brains the brandyshine
sunlight qwest of querelous
quagmire cop-shops like this,
when the sordid rhyme starts stuffed nothings like this.

I cant quite figure out how to express what
I feel these days.

And I know I am dying painfully
I told her
in these mean insipid corridors
of my mental grails.
Mean corridoria of my mystic mental grails.

Moratorium of gillish trails.
In my diseased red gills.
In my sickly mental grails. Fuck, just stop. Fucking stop.

STOP AND JUST DEAL WITH HIS FUCKING DEATH.


Flashback:

He takes a moment to swish 'is ice around in his fancy glass before he downs his late morning Stolichnaya treat and finishes his little lox filet and half of a pumperknickel bagel. He takes off his glasses and rubs his bloodshot eyes.

"I'm burning the F up out here and don't go getting all crazy assed and mad at me about this."

"I'm not mad about anything..... What the hell did I do?" I ask.

He smiles warmly at me, shaking his head slowly and adjusts his broken watch. "Nothing. Get inside I'll fix us up. But I want you to behave!"

"Oh quit, will you. It's not funny anymore. I'm not a child. I'm 24 years old. And I'm not your patient, Doc."

"Yes, I am quite cognizant of the facts, Miss Kane, and how ignorant of me not to recognize how old 24 really is. In fact, I would suggest you start filing now for social security." And he laughs at me.

His laughter hovers down finally to just chuckles and he makes a snorting noise and mumbles, "Aquarius," sarcastically and rolls his eyes, grinning like the Chesire Cat. I wonder if he's had too much vodka already.

I am helpless to do anything but laugh at his over the top and totally uncalled for brat-ness and outright, blatant attack on my astrological nature! (The topic of my Aquarian nature continues to amuse and tickle him for years, and honestly, I guess I never quite understood the hilariousness of my Aquariusness. But he would laugh out loud about it, literally for years!)
He soon begins to look at me the way he did when I was his patient, smiling, calm, and asks me politely if I'm "OK". I smile warmly back at him. "Yes. Yah, I'm fine, John."

"Good," he says and tilts his head, still making eye contact with me. "Cmon, it's hotter than fucking Hell out here." He looks almost sad. Or...I don't know what exactly. I guess the divorce isn't helping. I want to hold him very close. And we do hold each other eventually but it wasn't on this day, nor this night. But I do remember wanting to hold him so tight and part of me wanting to just live in those arms forever and ever.

We leave the brutally hot August heat and enter the deck slider and I'm wondering to myself if he is "OK". I decide not to ask him anything and just let him do his thing. Afterall, I love him and he's a special friend whose been so very good to me in the 3 years I've known him so far.

The cool dark of the beach house is like a new day, new life. My body feels good and my mind is at ease as we sit at his big table and cool off and talk and laugh for a few minutes. Then it gets strange and exciting and surreal as we do more of the crazy flash card experiments, getting direct and intense psychic hits on nearly every single one for hours. It is truly amazing the psychic connection we have. And he knows it's as bizzarre and fascinating as I do. He thinks of these exercises as practice for our hypnosis sessions we will do later in the evening. After three hours I finally break down and whisper, "No more, no more. I need a damn drink and a cigarette.... please, John!"
He lets his shoulders slump and lets a long sigh escape. He takes off his glasses and stretches. I fix a frisky little pirate juice cocktail and the Good Doctor sticks to the Russian firewater.

Later that Evening after a huge lobster and baked cod and red potatoes and greek salad by white and black candle light, I would place a thorny crown of beach plums, bayberry, red cedar bark, rose hips and hawk feathers (that I had made for him the day before) upon his thick black hair as he grimaced at me and laughed, begging me once again to behave. His shadow behind him made him look like a terrifying daemon, the two hawk feathers were two horns pointing inward, coming up out of his thick black hair and in the dancing candle light his eyes gleamed like light blue glass on fire. It was an image I knew even then, I would never forget and I remember thinking that very thing.

With my rum-drink in hand, a Camel Light in my mouth and my other hand dramatically sweeping up in the air, I ordained him "Smart-Ass John of the North, Ancient Druid King/Medicine Man."

His reply as he trys not to laugh: "You're making me smoke and I don't even smoke!"

"My are you ornery. You want me to go.....?"

"NO! We have more work to do, and I need more details of the first abduction, when you were 8 on the sailboat with your Dad. We need to deal with that, you know if were ever going to get anywhere with this thing. But..." he pauses as he looks in my eyes and seems to know exactly what I want him to say when he declares, "I need a swim first. Enter at your own risk," he adds, trying to freak me out.

But to no avail.

Much to his fake chagrin I just laugh and swipe at him, and follow him out to the dark waves under the starlight and swim the way he does-just like a fish and just as fast.

I often dream of swimming under dark sea water at night- seeing nothing, hearing nothing, knowing nothing except that he's right beside me or below me, or above me- so it's OK.

It's all OK. I know hes there beside me even when I hear nothing, see nothing, know nothing. My Smart-ass Druid King is still here with me, swimming in the dark, always above me or below me or right by my side.

Firefly

You said I was mystic

singing vodka hymns 'neath Orion

with the dark Earth

on my hands

and the four winds in my hair.



Remembering you, I seek your voice beneath the

moon's every phase.



I have followed your voice on the winds

so long,

so long.



Come home again inside the drifting

circle of another year

where our tender twilight time awaits.



You'll know I am around

as the evening grows cool and magic lites

appear upon the beach plums

where I wait for you.



Come home to my heart;

within this mystic circle

We made so long ago,

so that we may burn up the world,

burn down,

burn away,

burn blissful evenings asleep

burn with love and time,

O when the fireflys float and blend

with sweet summer

evenings,

let me burn up like Heaven and Earth

in those

long-lost arms forever

again.

The Languishing

American dream riddled with ghosts

holy rage the rifles

and hatred to our brothers

ink-well helmets feel the drone

of political discourse

overseas

and absorb the shock-thump glare of

vulgar ied's

wasnt it our side who pledged allegiance to the flag?

Dirtylands thrive and Hell doth blossom these blood-flowers

for the dead brown child holding a wooden gun,

the dismembered Marine from Omaha

or Portland or Chatanooga.

Wont God shed his grace on both?

Won't Heaven let fall her light on child and soldier tonight?



Under milky twilight swirled with the dust of war and desert-drumming,

a child dreams of a blue river and in it:

a million faces and red and white striped hands,

offering freedom, offering destruction, offering help, offering love and offering death-

all along the injured stratosphere of grace,

falls the hum of the distant brigade, the pounding of the approaching cannon,

the whistling laughter of the rockets red glare.



The inept hymns and tears have no place here in this most righteous of missions accomplished.



attempting to pray the goddess of peace,

we have barked rudely to the God of War,

hanging upside down in our swearing and chuffing, our angry bleeding to Christ.



the pink rim of the horizon disappears like a mirage beneath the blue firmament

and all around the lost village comes the sound of a silent respite-

as haunted children's ears are filled from within with the crazy, crying, singing stars of a promised peace.

Song

In the cold morning, smoke filled the air

and a quiet song began to play

in my heart, unsung to a hundred moons;

made the birds sit still and listen.

Waves of years and baggage unclaimed

tossed in the unfettered youth of life

I come looking for resolution

and the song plays on, even tonight as Orion

floats exhausted on the starry knolls after the hunt,

the song will play.

Swarm

My soul droned in a fish-eyed dream

So I ran away to come home.

But no one ever knew me so I sit on the grass and look

at bees and measure the meter of an oriole song.

Is summer really here?



I'm afraid another season will sway me further off track,

and the sad stars I put away in boxes will soon begin to swarm once again,

I just know it.

Bad Tooth

Home to where the dust settles again,

I see birds who are never sorry for the sky.

Magnets pull my teeth like radiation,

the thought of you crumbling turns me

back to the days when glass was sand

and some words were monuments of our love

before gray icicles had formed in the dead radiators

we lived with winter after winter.

The turmoil is gone.

The dust just settles now.

A Silver-Tinged Day
(Poetic Fragments Under Black Crows and Red Fire)

I. COSMIC SAILING/WINTERWOOD

Mountains shake me from the throat,
from approaching Orion, from stern to bow.
Erstwhile hands, sing broken stirrings to the birds.

I gather cold wood for hot fires,
everyday.

I'm done with the cloud dreams, and I say it aloud:
Now I want truth.

Will you simmer me up some justice & sail away with me
in a scared little boat that's really a wooden shoe?

II.WINTER HYMN

Suspended under a steely sky dropping me into the
arms of evening-time.
I'll whisper summer's sweet secret to the glitter
which paints my cold face.

Turn of the key and its winter whom arrives again
in my house like a ghost coming back.

Yellow & brown fields turn gray, and we are almost there to the white.

A diamond jingles the orange fire which soothes the wayward ghost.

Lullabye me off to one swirling magic moment borne
of the ancient elements which humble a rage untold.

Under howling winter and swirling isobars,

I have returned.

Oh! There are worlds all around us that we cannot see,
won't you come find them with me?

III. LEAVING SADNESS IN THE WOODS

Well, I'm an alchemist,
My constant plight to turn lead into gold.

Alone under shifting creation I call upon you.

A cold sun vibrates its tin-whistle reverberation
through my shocked blood and dines upon my gray matter,
the burn croons me to look homewards,
again.

Crows speak in chants and runes
and I casually touch my hand to hand,
Light a cigarette and sway with oak-light from within.

I dream of what you & I will do tonight,
sputtering through our happy home,
we can find a tender tinderbox of love,
once again, after the moon rises, my Love.

Isn't it wonderful, everyone's left me to my own devices,
and I come shining like a zephyr across these barren fields
anfd into your happy heart
once again, Love.

O, Love!

IV. BRACKISH WATER LINGERINGS

Tribal blood runs past all torturous memory
to find a brother, a sister.

Evening will soon begin to swirl 'round
my ghost of a face
shadowed by hard Sundays & golden eyes.

"Remember to balance the eloquence, m'luv,
Make sure to balance the eloquence wit God's fiery truths."

Yes, Darling, I will.

You see, I threw out the fancy glasses.
Lets drink from wooden bowls until Springtime comes to frighten me again.

Let us taste the Earth, down here in the salty winter
where it pleases God that we look upwards from the dust
of our days, Love!

V. SUNSHADOWS WRAP IT UP

All told,
the world is but an empty winter wood
where we long to dream
in our own cosmic melancholia.

Fire-rimmed afternoon horizons
mark our daily hope,
tho it's always just a sunshadow
through black branches that we chase.

The Gift

For John M.
I miss you so much..so much when the summer stars swarm over our salty seas..
Chalito humma nakni !



Time was a haze that set forth from the sea;

Our glasses shone & foamed and a gentleness

rose from your depths like the sun.



Later, when my hands went to grasp

your flowering gifts, your soul, kingly

and ancient, went gold like the wind.



Your gifts gave me something new and never-ending,

A sweet hymn I often hear in my blue days.

You came strong and vanished like a storm of light.
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

My Medicine Man. The Good Doctor. Handsome Ghost of a Druid King.
Brilliant German-Jewish Jungian Psychoanalyst. Generous. Sensitive. Caring. A Gentleman. A Scholar. Firefly Kid. Bee-charmer. Harvard Professor. Goofy & Gangly. Loved a Good Vodka Buzz and Song. Protecter. Athletic. A Totally Crazy Man. Motherless Man-Child.
Holy Man. Shaman. Guru. Wicked Smart-ass. Rabid Red Sox Fan. Democrat. Beautiful. Truly Libran. Exotic. My friend...
Chilito humma Nakni, NAKNI!!!! I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER, JEM!!!

Woman To Stars

My blue shadow has finally outgrown my soul.

I am truly alone now with myself.

Untwist the lid off the jar, let the fireflys light up the night.

I sway under a waxing moon,

trembling, sighing,

smiling,

rolling like a lioness on the wet grass

in a rage, tears flowing at long last,

holding the earth as it spins back the years,

my eyes fixed on your new home in the stars, so far so far,

growling over & over again:

"Dear comrade, my comrade!"

Summer Dance

I.
All through my veins the warmth exists

the magic life of nectar & the buzz in the trees,

the orioles in flight, these summer sweets we seek.



My oldest dreams, still alive in the waterways of my heart-

Our blue days seek lullabye equations

sought still throughout the dormant days

and the terrible ice of the gray winter.



Wander'd and twisted in sandy foam, I see you kneeling,

kissing the Earth's rim on fire with the sounds

of my desires drowning wildly and free

in their secret blue tides of a beautiful destiny,

This chance encounter, this feathered introduction,

mirrored in the trembling walls of diamonds

and shadow swaying under Venus,

under wet spring branches, cool & vibrant in the shadows

where you will dream me again, for the first time.

.

II.
From the top of the stairs I see my

pale face in the mirror resound with sadness and love,

a twinkling of Gaelic grey and a summoning of Choctaw spirits

enraptured at the sound of this spinning blue planet-

What magic words did our mouths muffle to the black of night

in the dream I've forgotten but crave endlessly through eternal suffering?



Surrender your heart to the summer night,

small dark bats dance a whimsical flight

All mouths crave the tender fruits of night

seen through the crosshairs of love's first sight.



III.
When the strongest beast rises in the sky between summer & spring,

Once again this prophecy, our magic words will echo and ring:



Drift of green days spun slow and wanton,

this abandoned horizon singing lost hymns

to your blue stars twinkling their sorrow-lites

of compass'd glow, Our summer dance awaits.

Song For Hesse's Aging Painter: Klingsor

Sun in June, birds have sung to you all day long
You hear their calling calling
Is that your tired heart that's falling falling
Into an empty dream of blue gold song

You only saw that face upon violet skys
How sweet your melody blended with her sighs
I stood there with you long ago so long ago
I was reborn again today and just cant let it go....so

chorus1:

Flow, flow,
Flow into the burning sun
Go, go,
Tonight let's go & drink our fun
Hear that heavy hearted moonbeam calling
Its thrumming like a drummer drumming
Oh let's flow, flow
It's so, so
Like you when I hear that lonely rain come down.

However long you run we'll still glitter like gold
You still run on and on, so warm me when I'm cold
You were on high when I was born I saw your smile
Ya held my hands thru all ten thousand miles

The day
Comes falling down
Here on me
The day comes falling fast here
Can't you still see me?
Bring my night time secret remedys
And we'll go golden glitter
Come on come glittering with me
I loved your soul so let's

Flow flow!
flowing like a bird across the sun
Run, run!
running towards the arms of gentle gods...

You only saw my face cross violet skys
How sweet your melody blended with my sighs
I stood there with you so very long ago
I was miraculously reborn again today so..

So let's Flow, flow!
Flow into the burnin heart of man
C'mon let's
Go, go!
Lets Go out you and me
Watch the heavy moonbeam falling
The night is thrumming
Like a drummer drumming

Oh let's flow, flow!
It's so, so
So like you when that Summer rain comes fallin down.

Sun in June, the birds have sung to you all day long
You hear them calling calling
It's just your tired heart that's falling falling
Into the last great dream of blue-green golden song........

C.E. Kane

(Song lovingly written for H. Hesse aka The aging Swiss Painter "Klingsor" in: "Klingsor's Last Summer")

Deviled Egg Dip With Toasted Olive Oil Pita

Sea Kane's Rainy Saturday Snack Recipe:

Deviled Egg Dip with toasted pita wedges. :)

I very rarely post anything other than my poems but this is so good I want to share.

OK, we all know how to make deviled eggs, right?

Ssssssssorta like that but with like, a little twist.

I boiled 4 large eggs and while they were boiling I prepared the dressing for my Deviled Egg Salad Dip. Its gonna be quite devilish. ;-)

(Measurements, I have no idea I just really wing it with stuff like this. Good luck, lol.)

In a medium sized bowl:

Bit of mayo

Bit of dijon mustard

dash salt

dash garlic powder

6 bread and butter(sweet) pickle chunks/chips diced

a small little hunk of a vidalia onion diced very fine

half of a small container of feta crumbled cheese

a half of a small can of sliced black olives diced

a smidgen of fresh dill crushed and diced fine

dash of paprika

a good dose of fresh cracked black pepper

dash of chili powder

dash of sugar

Mix it all up really well.

Now run cold water over eggs for a few minutes & peel the eggs and mash em all up in the dressing. If you were making deviled eggs youd just mash up the yolks then put the mixture back in the whites. But we aint doing that. Its even better this way trust me.

Cover with plastic warap and put it in fridge for hour or so.

Now just cut a couple pita pockets in wedges and brush with some EVOO. (x vir olive oil)

A dash of garlic or onion powder can be dusted over the oiled wedges now if desired.

Toast in oven til crispy and voila.

Dip away. Yum. Even more yum with a nice freeezing cold diet pepsi in my frozen mug.

:) Let me know how you liked it if you try it. :)

Thunderstorm with Coffee & Camel Lights

The morning persists and weaves it's way around
my coffee cups and tired heart,
even as thunder raged and electricity ripped
the darkness of a coastal town
into rain and ice from above,
my smoke rings made their slow & sneaky evacuation
through a soaked screen and I watched them dissipate
like everything does and will,
another bolt and battering of hail,
through the storm
my mind persists, I persist
and soon this second cup is empty, too.

End Game

Here on Earth we wait.

Here we are waiting.

What comes in dreams

can no longer suffice,

can not soothe the raging within.

Raindrops make me still and alone.

Yet the fires still burn on.

Swift air blue and gray,

A tussled planet of angels,

A distant star warped nightly,

Peace has flown my sisters, my brothers,

Peace has flown and made herself

a home in a distant radius,

a distant fire burning with all the

rock of the heavens,

the sweet sephulchres

of time, the petty groveling goes on

and on down here.

Lift me higher in a vaccuous thought,

so that I may die screaming

in these final, flaming justices.

The Alchemist or: the Trifecta of Widowed Couplets Make for a Breathless Finish

Turning wry to soft-
my smile knows the backroads to the waves.

Understand: these are tiresome burdens which have
tempered the soul

A heart strains like maroon goodbyes
and tubes of trains.

Three wheeled bikes and willow the wisps
have arced my memory.

Factoried beliefs split open the comet's glow
and drip drop tears forever & ever reign.

Harness these hands!
For they are better suited to destiny

Than free will.
(tho the confus'd heart will still ache for such vivid freedom)

Stone to sand &
sand to glass;

The rich shards imbedded in thought

A fever to red
and a hollow earth's bed

Is all the magic that's left in me

Save a bow to rain
and a feather to feign

Sheer flight over mountains instead.

..............................................

("Well even my best friends....
Even my best friends, they don't know...
That my job is turnin' lead into gold.
It's a hard road, it's a hard road, daddy-o
When your job is turnin lead into gold."
-Van Morrison)

The Cometed Universe of the Failing Poet (In 10 Breaths)

The sun erupted like lily-blooms
in my eyes just before the dreaming woke me.

All through the divinity
I crawl & forgive.

Comets growled in the beginning-
They lit me up like a terrorist's fuse.
And now-once again, the growling persists.

Hats in tangles- these wild souls shine
their godly light upon me.

Whinter whites are on the whay
but all I can do is smile and spit.

All along the faded drum-beat of Night
my words will burn up, like comets
trying to stretch faster through the atmosphere.

Rivers of time runneth over
into my empty cup.

Angrier spirits than I have thrived.
But sadder things have perished.

Songs of stars come closer
to me now than ever before.

Glow of moon-beam thrill my acheing breast!
I shall adore myself before I fall through this Earth.

Feel

Wounded by death we disgrace the blood which runs in our veins

all for the white-star and wind wishing utter justices

through our unique eternities

all for the sake of the human dance, the final kiss that wakens our

hearts and warms our breast above freezing

throwing away three hundred more years

all for the sake of a beautiful

love-feeling shared with an angel of mercy

which makes me want to

quiver in the final warm ashes

of power and light

and be kissed again by you,

just fly from that grief forever

and helplessly love you in our darkened rooms,

just loving you, Love,

just you and me and your whispers in my sad ears

just you and me and your chiseled mouth

kissing my warm throat like honey blooms and cool lava

til the red dawn pulls out of the black sky

til the fated,

beautiful,

stoned world

ends abruptly in bullets

and name-calling.

Oh how I long for you tonight across these terrible distances!

And all I can do is feel.

Call Me Tango Blue

Under a shift of sun

and planets wobbly and weak

The backwood fires are lit:



Just call me Tango.



I erupt in light and seek the days

Like pebbles roiled by the ocean's churn.



Nights will bleed the true sap of soul

in magic increments

Til pride concedes to visionary confession.

Here is where my steel shoulder glows with oak-lites

and here is where the wafted voice of the evening shudder comes:



Tango Evening, Tango Blue -

Tango Blue Stars, Tango Eye,

Seek your worldly dance inside this magic glass

of suns and water and time.



Before I lay my head to sleep in twilight blooms:

Safe birds calling to me,

Tango Blue, Tango Blue, Tango Twilight Blue!



After the weaver-bird skips my soul like a warm stone across the sky,

I ordain myself without permission, Tango Blue.

Cornfield Past

Days are lost like buttons

from old coats,

except we never recover them.



When thunder rumbled we shook back the skys

and storys about dying



Tho we never really believed.



Last night a murmur from the ages long ago

broke soft thru an orange dream

and set me on the road home.



All day long I looked up at the sky through windows,

through the sunshine,

through the fog and through my hands;

I was captured once again.



My trail leads on through ghostly air and out upon blue oceans

quivering with sight;

I have found a blue light in the dark wood.



green August corn, cornfields heavy with corn scent
bending and rustling fresh and light
fed by rain and sun,

I could get lost in that

mystic maize of childhood

forever,

again.

deus ex machina

The ghost truly lives in this machine.
I am startled by its presence daily.

I walked to the end of the world today
And all I found was a sleeping stone.
I threw it back to God
and begged him to wake me up.

Collecting skulls will keep the universe
enthralled.

The dark paint on cave-walls
believes in my futility.

What Crows know would break a laptop.

Crying to the moon?
Venus whispers in my ear.


I will transcend time and space
before death slaughters my nuclei.

Hope with me, sollemn rabbits in prayer,
that we develop night-vision.

Hovering souls and whispering ghosts
gather around my knuckles and ears.

I see you, world.
I can see you move through space.

Atlantean Sorrow

There's no where to put these things:

books I can't feel anymore.


If the sky was fire (as it is in dreams sometimes)

I would ride the thermals

Backdraft, updraft, the rising heat.


I see this world in my flight just before my

little echo finds peace and lets go the wing:



My soul plummets through the dark wave,

abandoning my lost city of self forever.


No, there's no where to put these things:

A wind, a book, a wave, a heart on fire.

The Capital S

Silver fever doooor buster pride halt the majestics and burnt out shit

i'm no more for that than i was

halllow holllow helllllo calllling

sooo coool sos

i'm not made of barbed wire and i'm not your ghost

go chuck the dimwit pride and stf up i dont like grammmarrrrrr today so offf with their heads

i just hate that ok

and I love me but ok

so

why

dont

you

loook

at

sunsets

anymore?

(The little white hen in the red seeed needs sunscreen.)

Blossom

A haze has turned and sweet
the song of every winged heart

Compels this lost ship to keep sailing
to & fro the waves have tossed

The oaken hull has landed soft
this dream of flowers wild and free

Stretching arms and words upwards
foaming through the voices of stars

I swirl again and wake on a sea of
fragrant stalks as delicate and sad

As the dreams that guided my ship
to rest in finality, here on Earth I blossom.

Haunted

In dreams broken bells trickle down:

"It's over, you failed."

Winds surge forth from the banks

and stir and toss all sound.



Ghosted, I hold my hands at night to a ghastly skull

filled with mystery and memorys.



The storm is unrelenting

The free fall never ends



As I die calling to you every morning

and walk thru haunted days, a ghost

That no one sees-



except you.



Your eyes burned the back of my neck today

as a papery flower fluttered off my desk,

I turned to greet the windy storm

And I felt you walk right through me,

I heard the ocean & I smelled lilacs ;

and felt a hundred butterflys dancing in my veins.





You've returned for me at last.

Hovercraft Literature Lemon Drop (Thghe Newghe Invenghtion)

Trapped in a foamy pillowcase
of white Balthazar
I wonder sometimes...

ahh I pick up the slack now

Did you see those ghosts falling thru the sky?
I rummaged thru daydreams, heard hard of falling
off massive bridges that crisscrossed the oceans.

One day I will be able to spout the tree leaf rhymes
But for now all I have are just fragments
of lemon dropz-- literature residue,
a rather curious afterburn in my brain.

I am no scavenger
But I too, must eat.

Gulfed in some wheaten smoke
I ride the hurricane shush
through loftier winds
and graze on hungry glacial developments.

It will all be okay, m'darlin.
trust me on this --
Hav' I ever lied to you before?

O honey pie, I am blowing skywards at warp speeds
Please dont bring me down
where shiny little hovercrafts
are in danger of crashing
right through
the Baltic regions
of my shadowy soul.
My sinewy shadowy starlit sovereign soul.

Reach.
Reach for me but leave me alone.
I wisp in a willow away from you all now
forev'r.

I am gone thru the blue,
My hands will slip thru your fingers,
and I will go floating, hovering away.

Space-walking I will go

Testing my new invention,

I think the modern world will call it

anti-gravity verse.


Wandering upwards
I try to recall the chimney smoke grace of what never
was.
And I hover away
brittle brittle
lucid lucid
for the first time in my life
I perceive a language that
I can understand
In a world that I can finally,
Finally
bear.

Firefly II

Last summer's fireflys are tracking me

to the final wooded place where I rested

Nights of swarming stars dripped honey-suckle teardrops

down on my dry cages.



Sworn, my hands turned into scrub pine,

misty mornings found my arms upheld,

raised in Confession to the Silent Longing

which took my hands and eyes,

fostering a new home in the far starfields,

my burdens dissolved as

my senses arced,

trembling through twilight

and beyond.



Last summer's fireflys have nearly found me,

I will wait patiently

for their blinking

traffic.

Nor'easter

Evening hymns fall soft like days of dandelions

and cool rain thru sunlight

Days of distinct sadness and glory-fires smoking me from palm to palm.

My silver cage grows thin and wobbles like the universe

and I remember my first days under the angelic cobalt

cascading like snowfall down from unforgettable summits.



As human mourning of beauty trembles under my skin

the heart is drawn upwards and the tides of my warm blood

compass past another equinox, a dark planet inhales my likeness

and sets my dead hand back to the painting,

abandoning the slow detours of the Night,

the bright green flashings of the sun make my movements bolder than

burgundy wine or orange dream-elixir.



The cages fall away and we walk out of ourselves and into each other,

singing the only song we know,

drowning in the bright poetics of

nebulous

storms.

Indifference

Struggling through our daily bread,

these little emancipations which never sing or proclaim.

To the gods on high or to a single ray of light we speak,

always our mouths stitched,

muffled messages to stuffed ears.

The soul reverberates with an unknown thrumming.



A songbird breaks my dark morning, shatters the rain into mist

and draws my heart outward,

higher,

soaring towards the deafening silence of my indifferent maker.

Orchard

My blood remains adrift and lingers
up here.

One might say that I have died.


For some time the fruits of silence
have ripened and now fall
dead to the dark earth with echoes of
too many years.

Anti-gravity verse creeps in thru strange
little windows of the mind now.

Is this all there is in open fields of twilight
and churning winds?


The world doesn't understand,
so let me make it plain--
I have seen the stars and all their glory,
the thunderous silence of a glowing orb's
wax and wane!

Tho the scattered images of sunrise and foamy air
will not tempt my heart again to
sway thru the atmosphere with wild abandon, drunk with
the hope of another inept year.

The paths have grown muddy and thick with thorn
Far & away the hills gleam fire over brown, dead terrain
and I cannot stop waking from
the dream
that dies
every
day.

There has to be something with no end,
a darker wood where one cannot pass,
tremulous bird-song shattered
by the howling Night or
Hard trees devoid of form, whichonly bear
ghostly fruit,
in long-lost,
much wilder orchards than these.

Endeavor

I ask for true days only
where under oceans of history my soul can be born.
I want to remember this world as it is to me, a hard and beautiful dance;

so few have made this cut. My destiny is set for the swirling stars
where all the things I am and have been come shining in my blood.

The reasons I've had to float my hands and tread the forests

of the spirits, the reasons and choices wrapped in rain and droplets of

mist. Even the stars now, even now they aren't sure where I'm going.

Under constellations, my face mirrored with galaxies and my ribcage full of
the songs of birds, my shadow puffs and changes like paper being filled with words.

Waiting for twilight's fevered fortune to arrive I sway below Venus and

bleed my soul to it's essential birth, through years of botched conceptions.

Buteo

There's rain today.

It's like the days when we were older

and quiet.

Not like now

where we wait all day for nightfall and

weep under mist and wet branches.

The hands unsure of what to do or what to create

go off floating and clasping

the wet spring air.

My soul always- a crooked pair of

silent talons, driven by hunger.

Understanding April

A winter spirit, this seed in spring

still full of the sound

of howling winds,

the ice that cracked at last;

is now my water my sustenance.

Once I knew the name of

Sea spray illuminated by starlight;

I go through these days alone, so forgetful of

my moon-song history

and find my way home

to Evening-time & listen

to the silence

or a single seed.

Star-Trap Zephyr Brigade

An Anthem


Plaguelands and grimy battalions of heroes and pups

the slow ache between the ribs and beyond

all control waning for a pocket full of stuffed torsos-



Who amongst you dare to deny Mars his fiery year of fight?

Victory and variance, such careening variance of fathom-less might?

Stake the skulls and amp the ramps the smoke of War is in sight.



Lost like the wayward virile lines of the Ghost's verse

I sway myself over through the winds and gone again

wondering who made your heart so calm and fading?



Not the crimson eyed God of War,

for these wars roll on and on, beyond the luminaries now-

drift, planet, drift away from the final, fitful spasm of the unseen vein.



Coil'd like the serpent in some balmy almond day

some lost day when the bright eyed eagle swooped low

with his creatured Prometheus by his side, swaggering eagle.



With sharp scissored smiles and our dreams in chains

The predators awoke and smoothed mountains to scale

as Venus rose lovely and longingly o'er the shadowy veil.



Drill Sgt. Zephyr marches the drum-brigades all through the Night

hunting Orion and torching celestial barricades

just below the white death serpent-plowing fists of poppies singing sweet so sweet, for our Captain.

Trifectas Cosmos By Chance

Bleed humbly over earth and sky

For the stars have bled

Powerfully

Drops of courage into

Your eyes.



I see a warm horizon

there where you left me to my own.



Ne'er to return away

Again

to twist like that awful cedar

Under lightning

and Hydra's grin.



I know my peace

will come:

moon-rise in June,

a sad and terrible beauty.



I can never return.

You know I can never return to you now.

Untitled # 19

Here, in the cool circle of late winter

where birds once sang Casseiopean hymns

the air swirls with stars

as the heart, a stellar dandelion sea of yesterdays,

reaches for a time, a moment, a place

where the blue night returns

at last.

The final storm that never was, vanishes like

birds of a vast, distant tree.

Endless

For A Ghost Who Once Was



Silent purples, wash of stars,

at last a light in the east.

(it has to be the thought of morning.)

The endless cadence of mornings and twilights

thrumming in the ribs and cartilage of my memory,

all a dream broken by

symbols and time.

I wake from this dream sobbing and crippled.



Endless days. I feel, endless.



My heart begins to accept it's fate:

a weak connection to a vibrant dream,

static and erractic energy and then,

it comes into focus, I can see me there, so alone.

Endless child, you little creature. Lost on this high place above the sea,

endlessly looking down on a world you'll never love again.

2:02 AM

The night is a ghost,

a ghost of a cat.

And a silent prayer

heard

above the caterwauling.

Lumens ortus

The light is hard,

these days in crippled form

waning I lose my touch

and crumble

under pain that floats, indifferent to pills.



I dream of a wing and breathlessly

wake and climb mountains of grimaces

just to see the birds.

I can nail my coffee down here and

throw my brain in a bag:



Then I might be able to write about

this little birth,

this birth of light on the day

and in me.

vacant, no. Flat.

Bring me justices,
here with your water cascades
of triumph, this wavering nocturne.

The sun will never forget the cursing of the curse
under white moon-light.
(I may have caused it great despair)

Big world, must you make me crawl
under streetlamps for the hush
of wind that plagued me once?

Saturn has tilted in its strong victory
and sways it's might above
my crazed outcome.


Act I :

I ordain myself Tango Blah Blue and draw crazy symbols on the kitchen windows as the linguine boils.
I should be on my way, I'm quite sure. Fuck, I don't know- pack my things at least.

I think its time I dropped
the tin-pan signal from my lemon sky
and walked
too far
into any forest to write the rest.

Last night a ghost-bird left me
ideas in my broken mind,
but I cannot see them
in the morning
through these smouldering,
eyes which deflate me.
I still smile but I worry about my eyes, they seem
(Get in line, little words.)

vacant,

no.

Flat.

Conception

This coming light is washed with years

and time.

It has to be.



My hands ache and stretch

like lizards fighting to escape the shell.



What I must escape is vast and fiercely clings to my bones

as I struggle to create a new day

out of years and time lit by a strange new light.



One day it will rain blue and green words down on me

& summer constellations will waken my tired soul.

My final hands, free, will roll up little poems in threes,

stuffing hundreds of my empty dream-bottles with trinitys and

the names of stars.

.

My body won't be broken but awash with new light.

This day is coming.

It has to be.

Element

My life,
where every tree another wish,
a spirit borne laughing
in each

coils 'round me tight like the clouds
before rain.

Dripping like comets through
ethereal twilight
I set off to find
a trace of you.

Starry drifts are new to me
youll have to excuse my wonder..

After all the nights spent huddled in icy air
it grows within me so that I can not contain the warm water and starlight
you give to me.

Fire is one that made my life's chant stronger
Yet it cannot breathe nor burn in me any longer.

The brown earth in all it's shades
can support me
Yet it shall never cover me,
nor fill me.

It is air, rarified and pure that I find
expanding me and squeezing my frame
to infinite need.

I linger where the air is cool
and return to the summers
where the air is warm.

The rain will fill the hollows
where my steps last tread
but will never fill me,
ever again.

Proletariat

Summon my magic whisper if only my hopes

could give life to your dreams.



So many mountains of the heart,

a vast & rocky terrain.



Choosing between ideals and love,

again I faulter with hope.



I see the cool mountain-top is alone and happy,

but I think it needs me.

Missing Persons

These days

are just

hazy memories

of kind poets telling me

I'm strange in a good way,

like ginger beer or Guillaume &

as solitary as a broken barometer

in someone's old barn

and then

they just say nothing &

disappear forever

again.

Pactum concupis

I can't fly through cold air

like you and I don't have the

strength it takes

to migrate.

But I can make coffee

and take my pills

and write about you

and love you.

I feed you

black sunflower,

orange suet,

& Tchaikovsky at twilight.



You know I can't fly

and could die trying

but I'm writing about you

and maybe someday

we can

trade.

Puppet World

Sunlight finds it's way into the eyes of a sad world,

a doll world where eyes stare dumbly into space

unable to see the moon.



One dream left, smiles the mute, stitched-on mouth to itself.



The perfect hand from golden air, fills itself with stars

and horses.

Enters the sad husk of silence,

and

breaks the spell.

Dream of the Mango Branch

I waded through the genesis of a year,

I couldn't remember a home.



Saltmarshes and sunsets,

a melancholy purple sky.



Slate juncos and blue lights,

a rebuilt starter for a plain car.



Wind in my leaves,

a perfect spicy chutney.

Meet June

Birdsong in late spring, under vernal swirls of

misted isobars and a new freedom,

awoke in me my oldest dream.

Cherry blossoms were part of the beauty

of life, and sunsets under an ancient blue

formed a magic in my heart that the soul could lean on.



As ruddy hawks soared over my lazy quiet afternoons, the heat stewed

new reasons in my eyes, and all day the hummingbirds

glimmered green and gold..

A sanguine farewell evaporated and I found my voice even as I knew

that greater magic had deserted me, so long ago.

Revenant

Under lilac songs all of Heaven was in one little bird

The dream pangs never cease

The song must be heard

My darkness at close of day is incidental.



Following a misted path we seek starry spirits

The wisdom of all eternal creatures

bubbles up from the Venus lit horizon

I will leave my shell on the beach.



I will find a boat I can drift over my days in

The water around me swirling the fathoms of sea foam

Sun spray dappling my oaken hull as I dream.

I feel all of heaven in the smallest thing.

Blur

Morning now old and

I'm almost wishing it

was blue evening

already.



These are old days

and the clouds douse

my synapses.

Stoic

Cedar winds

ruffle my resolve

and pepper my starboard side.

My day begins.

Rolling out to blue wishes

under almost-March skies.

I worship this small sound:

a chickadee

or a

mackerel sky.

Confessional

The struggle of days unraveled me until I sailed high and on fire,

ruffled and unwrapped by warmer winds and hot stars.

The quiet parts of me became louder as my searing flight

rocketed me away from a deep and ingrained sadness.



How long I cast myself as a wounded beast

or some untouchable thing that couldn't know itself.



Even under thunder when I was most certain of my own existence,

there was still time and history which muddied the single path

and filled my hollow bones always with water

so that I only became one with the days of rain

and never swam out towards my self.



I watched with my oldest eye the things above me and my hands sought to capture

the ghost of the moon.

My sacred winged inferno was extinguished once more

as another spring drowned me in it's water-arms.

Haphazard

Stars adrift, drown in my voice

ancient sap rises in the soul

& in through blue windows,

flies the evening bird..



Ether'd drift of Night envelops me

a succinct spirit rises

and forms light in cirrus.



Dark days backlashing

in so many minutes I see the world

fraught with

holy fire,

I lay drunken and weeping

at the feet

of harsh gods.



Long live the grass fires burning

up the books, the laughter

and the mind on fire with wild deviation from

birth



and in thru the walls of

single cells,

green sea-foam nocturne.



Oh wind-scorched nebulae:

the last glitter of Earth's symphony

cannot capture your heart;

is this truly what

you want to say?



I walk like a ghost on fire with

Love, with scorn and hatred

I walk like twilight dancing on your face,

I walk like sick and injured birds

away from you,

as if I had no other choice.

Discernment

Through timeless squalls the heart rises again

and it must weather the storms of the world.

Here in this Universe, we have time

and pain. Colored by sunsets and wine,

the ribs bend and sway to the Four Winds.

Seeded and packed with growth

some of us jump off and some of us

can only wait for yesterday.

One At Lora Mill

When the night fell it was more because the blue wavering inside started to spiral.

The mechanical wind was attacking and retreating for hours. Something clicked and then I knew it was just a fan oscillating afterall. That's when I felt the coolness on my bare legs and how nice it all seemed.

Storied moon-birds and sweet alpine songs could rapture in the short-lived roundelays here under the skull.

And that is how the room was, the world was, the hopelessness was for me.

My tired brain needs additives. The last abyss changed me somehow. In a small and tired way.

I will thrive under this crystal ceiling.

It is only my willingness to abort the mission which I celebrate,

as the earth spins and I hold on, slipping in my logic, Oh Mercy, I feel spun out.



In this life it's my gold for quartz, this cranium-zeal for a galeful & vast solitude; impenetrable by comfort.

Joy can not quite erase the marks on me.

Because somewhere under all that clean, white paper is the original & terrifying mistake and we

just can't live and die on teacakes and custards alone, you know.

Selective Memory

Over ride the heartaches and echoes of rain

I'm up to the beer and bones, wild nights in my past

come ghosting around and gone

Again nothing hears this sound

But a sunless sky and approaching Night.

Gray days good for pianos and candles,

at least I have a little something left

and I sit here in my broken pieces and let the smoke

waft through my short circuits and

frayed flags of the heart.

The wind will whip my self to me and I

will be allright, like that great old story I once had to write

and soon forgot, its pages flurried through that

sunless, wordless sky above.

Switch

Dazzled lamplight lends me a pulse,

some mercies go cheap.

Here under the deathtolls I remember you.

My faded brilliance my dying glow my dead headlights:

This lime green glint of my ghost.

I long for the lost pieces of my hours,

but they're everywhere bleeding on the highways,

their eyes gleaming as they die and fade.

Illuminati jewels on the cinders;

I see now how the lamplight dazzled me.

I'm awake and the dream without end,

ends.

Evening Song

Today the tired world cracked and all the trouble

ran down over me.

My heart so sick,

My eyes search everywhere

for wings or quiet meadows.

Content in my twilight bed with poetry,

I wait now for Evening to switch on

the stars to break the solid stone of shadow

and dapple the darkness

that filled my hollow husk today.

Trinity

Three lines held me like sun-fire, moon-glow

and green star-light.


Amidst the melancholy skippers

my voice was born.


Under tumult and the hazey sadness of

a burgeoning summer day,


Varied echoes came closer

to finding me

Than ever before.


At the last second I cut my lines

and drowned in bright poetics,


Ah, damn this Maddening, this slurring search.