bigger

bigger than this smaller than that
when you are silent that's an attack
bigger than this smarter than that
another disappearance it's all old hat
bigger than this older than that
thinking you're hiding shows what you lack
bigger than this sharper than that
there is no outburst that will keep me intact

hours

all those lost and thought forgotten hours
hidden by the lies they did devour
still this path before you may give rise
until and to your ultimate demise

give the day the line as proper written
if freed by your compass all is forgiven
when one can be what one believes
they shall never fall upon the road of thieves

secrets are kept and they will rot
that piece of you innate but forgot
give the light within you time
be as thou ought - the man by original design

furies

your songs like my furies nest in my head,
they cradle this cracked heart when I sleep,
and drown my soul out of my bed.
words no longer mean so much me
but without them you know not how to be.

O! my savior, alas,
cleanse pure through flesh pin prick
you as a drug opiate high mass,
then in vein through blood divine, gasp!
Oh, do! please do! the past is past due!

angel with held scythe,
allowing such images to scorn your schools
a cruel high esoteric price.
building wine soaked flocks of fools.
with stolen silver forced moors to forge soft gold tools-

bring on more pretty boys and young lady crooks;
false homeland hoods, white wearing lying whore sages.
dancing, throwing putrid worms on fish hooks,
Babylon anew with clubbed feet in gilded cages

so courageous around your friends and tasks

but I smell their poisoned apples as I wander your haunt
examining their Janus masks
see how you are looking so gaunt
You sit so patient...
willful at the bare edge
where my doubts dismiss sapient.
...touch my cheek, remiss;
say this too shall pass
and on my forehead lend a pity kiss.

in a month, and ten and ten...
the sun sea and sand will sit so different.
indescribable outside the sight
of dust, ash and lent

skin, spine and heart tingle
bursts in incandescent anticipation,
eyes tear - awe and wonder, both mingle
avert to distant horror... that cracks the soul's aviation

when our days 

all become one -
what to do who to tell; 

who will hear what we say....
time will ripple lights will sway,
temperate seasons 

will change in our hands,
extreme alter in a day.

February 2011

wired

this bird on a wire
sitting pretty
but so tired
of always needing
to fly higher

looking down
on your homes
such lovely
glass domes
should I go through a window
it's risky to fly low

beat these tricks
break my neck
pick up sticks
eat some seed
on your decks where we feed
efforts to intercede

this bird on a wire
always trying
to fly higher
sitting pretty
and so tired

been told

long gone and never foretold
a room and the ash for the sea
what could be said of my mind
will I have done enough kind
how will my story be told definitely
by friends or in files filled disproportionately
codes from clerks and illegible notes in pages
from fifteen minute dealers certainly not sages
how will such things be sold
times when I was harshly told
be quiet,  just sleep! why can't you be still?!
reports that bureaucracy insists to instill
or lovers that met to quicken then to a quick end
is this on whose hands my work will depend
after all that must repeats to then unfold
in a room with no view so still again again was told
acquaintances we had barely seen
are they the ones who know what I mean
how will my story be told
after all that must does unfold

still

if I could only make my heart stop
let all these ills be forgot
I know what I am is little I know what I am not
how long how long again until this heart stops
when will this breath and beat drop
so long that taste it sours as the cup does fill
how will I cut this bitter swill
by all these lies distilled
when wronged by reckless will
in sleep I tried to trick the clock instill
when will when will how very long until
I can at last go fast to slow lie still

in clover

in the brightest of sunlit days,
before the first snow;
we must let some things lie,
so that others may grow.
wild flora... in clover and vine;
blooming bushes that baffle to flower,
in what seems for some -
but is not, our darkest hour.
to our surprise some things gone never pass.
they are resting in waiting and come spring eternal-
return from same root, then rise above, a new body amass.