Endless

For An Artist 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.

Eternal Love Eternal Children

I still love you, John.

Nez-Perce.

Navajo woman. Crow tomahawk. Crow medicine man.

High Priest. Taos Brave. Snake-Chief.

Navajo. Taos warrior in blanket. Hopi brave.

Navajo smile.

Alchise-Apache

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

>battery charged
>or:
> (Psychosis: Butter Field Broken Paw)
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Once at the fishy harbour we drank acid-rain and gurgled strong
> hymns to Dionysus
>
> i remember becuz it was stonelight on the reckoning
> and bee hive justice was floundering rapidly against these delicate
> shoals.
>
> I know at lest one star touched my face and at least one comet
> burned my intestines after the slow thunder broke so soft
>over your cold blue lightning-flash of eyes.
>
>Tomorrow a gray rain will devour this beastly flesh and ignite
> small pitter patter poems to Edgar and Sylvia but yet
>
> here the ax falls so tender, still, over these heart cages and
> dreamsongz and oh baby dontya wanna see the other worlds with me.

>>What
the hell, >see how it gets b r okeN
when your ghost distracts >me?

You know if you weren't such a wisenheimer, you bastard, you wouldn't be so dead.
>
>
>
>
>
>
> CE Kane

Wacked

Out here, the deltas and the clouds the jewelled rivers of the mind;

the waterways are swift at times and glimmer off the crest.

I soak myself in air and heat and wash down this sullen pill

I say oh are you my friend, lillied thorn-berryin' cirrrus-speakin' fledged air riders?

Yah you little bird. You tiny seer wafting thru the haze, feathered rapscallion.

Please send snapshots of Pangea to the lost orphans

of Drone City.

I applaud your many kindnesses my dears.

Afterstumble:

The dark covers every day til its gone. This days gone. And its dark.

All good sea-things rolling with the moonlight tides, Good Evening and the day is gone forever.

No feather shapes the air, no river carves the land now.