Of dust

twisted tangled serpents
of the dark pierce
the broken facade
penetrating deeply
into the solid abyss
reaching for the earthly
hearth from where
mountains give birth
pouring fourth the
ageless glaze
a burning crust destined
to crack and wear
to dust
from where forests rise
and prairies graze on
the remains of that
ageless glaze
for death and worms
and countless turns of the globe
give birth to earth
the womb that nature pays
to seed with remnants
of that ageless glaze
for more twisted tangled
serpents of the dark
to pierce the broken facade

The you pool

you were saturated
in its baptism of your body
and it dissolved your soul
into the hearts that still
drip with the loss of you

now you rest in its depths
riding each tide that brings
you so close and carries
you away so far

its trickles are your
hands cupping the cheeks
of those you touched

its drips your lips
kissing away the pain

its showers your giant
embrace still warm
amidst the numbing cold
and empty silence

you are now the pool
so many bathe in
in remembering you

Celestial dragon

first cry ignition
the spark that set
the ember aflame
to awaken what
had grown cold and
shattered into
gleaming dust eons ago
now sparkles within
the pupil
what burns is only
what is lost
as the fire
from the celestial dragon
is within all
it dances within all
connects all
cloud to ground
planet to orbit
lover to lover
child to mother
its heat melts
away all insignificance
until we remain

Thair

you carved me with
time and persistence
being brutal and gentle
in bestowing me with
both strength and humility
you're slapped me
across the face
with stinging grains
of sand and beads of rain
exhausted me in
ravenous zephyrs of hellfire
and frozen me to my core
with screaming arctic gales
you've tickle me with
April breezes in
the warm May sun
and entertained me
with autumn dervishes
of dancing hues of leaves
you've give me breath
and have taken it away
and though I've never seen you
you are thair

His waltz

he bleeds black in
moon light full
his heart emptied
his veins spill
his soul into
the dark sea of night
he forsakes his voice
and makes his choice
to dance with those
demons he had fought
those he often had sought
never being able to choose
of his favorites
slots or sluts or booze
how could he choose
and had had his fill
until tonight
when his veins spill
his soul into the night
he grabs the shoulder
of Beelzebub to
balance his stance
for he's not quite
ready to fall
though he can
barely resist the flies
persistent call
and the dark grows
darker as the abyss
blooms before him
his step, one, two, three
one waltz too many

Heart words

it's always on the tip
of my tongue
I can almost
recall it all
and blurt it out
in an empty theater
for the audience
had dinners to
attend before I
could remember...
remember...
the lines ran
down the ditch
power-line shadows
that ebbed and
flowed with the
bus driver's foot
on the accelerator
running quietly
and swiftly along
the morning...
morning...
rays of sun
were what blinded
me and caused
me to cross the road
unknowing of the traffic
and the woman behind
the wheel behind the
hood that I landed
on and the windshield
I shattered and the
asphalt road I was
flung upon to
escape for just
a little while so I
could peek at my script
and remember...
remember...
that I take 24 to
81 to 92 to 29
to 41st to 35th
to Marion to find you
but I couldn't
and was only a
street away from
where I had left you
in the dark and cold
where my heart wanted
to say more but I
had forgotten its words
they are there though
right on the tip
of my tongue

Sabbath

the green is growing
darker in the blades
as I walk this manicure
of my backyard's span
two copper canines
chase the floating blips
in the sticky evening air
as I pass by the blush
of lilies being kissed by
moths mimicking birds
I rush the engine spinning
blades through vegetation
as dimmer grows the light
hoping to be done with deed
before tomorrow's rain
hoping to give into the idea
to have a full day of rest

The red carpet

the true despair
is believing
the red carpet
illusion has rolled
out in front
of the world
in believing
the castes are
the haves
and haven'ts
and their dice
has fallen
in believing
wealth is all
what gold will
put in your
miserable pocket
for these momentary
brief breaths
in believing
wealth is all
the time in
the world when
the clock ticks out
just the same for
the roofing man baking
in the July sun
as it does for the
retired woman under
that very same roof
in believing the goal
is to have any of this
or to hold anyone
we meet along the way
for everything
and everyone
and everywhere belongs
to it all that both
the past and future
continually fight over
while the present
blankly stares into
the mirror

As of late

the days are met
to find glory
resting within the
cages that once
housed hearts
and those cages
buried beneath
stones ever
reaching for
eternity
yet they too
must succumb
must surrender
to the audacious
advances of
inevitability
never will that
hand be slapped
away
never to escape
that creeping
presence
that slight of
hand played
out on daily
mirrors before
careless eyes
the days are met
not to question
whom has
created the dust
but rather
whom was the
dust created from