The maze

it is a maze to run through
unblinking eyes the flare
to know and be aware
some one's chasing down
those labyrinthine paths

where their sprinting
might pour out of
into vacant wishing wells?
out of brimstone quarried hells?
only the languished runner tells

on visceral coils
thunders the lightning
sparks ignite the maze
to consuming flames
and the gaze of the runner
sinks deeper in the soul's panes

and thirst they may
for first light of day beyond
the nightmarish tunnels
they coursed through

relief at last from
a blink in the looking glass
the runner has returned
from a mental trot...

just a thought

North

his pale white flesh
blankets me in frozen memories
we lay in ice and awe
of the gray grandeur sprawling
into the heights

on tips of their gnarled
fingers dance the kisses
we surrendered to

I am what writhed between
his legs, what melted
the longing frost on his field

his thawing sank
deep within me
and burns there still

weep I may for frozen
memories he engulfs me in
and abandons me to taiga
wanderings into the dark

The howling wind

the grains of sand
the pitted skin
the dried up washed out land
the ravenous wind

the smooth gray wood
that bleaches in the sage
the howling wind
that turns another page

the tumbling weed
the boundless reach
the wind tossed sun scorched seed
the scratchy speech

the evergreen spikes
that blossom in May
the howling wind
that darkens the day

the stalks of brown
the faded vim
the plowed up over turned ground
the touch of men

the country graves
that bury good and sin
the howling wind
that ever sings its hymn