Common

 I am the fern 

growing in the shadows

my unfurled fronds

sweep the floor

at the feet of giants

my bed is the moss

and rotting arms

of those lofty principalities

who could no longer

uphold their burdens

I feast on their scraps

as their flesh ages

withers and fades

to flake off and feed

the open mouth of the earth

though I'm lowly

men don't seek my bones

and I can survive the fell of the forest

when the giants who once shadowed me

can't

Word birds

 let the books flap their wings

as they pass over head

they litter the ground

with their words

each fumbled font filled pile

soiling the world 

that was once still and empty

and silent

but these writers rear 

their word birds 

in those coops kept highly

mounted on top of their shoulders

housed in caged-up crowded brains

the horrid condition of these

wretched beasts brings tears to the eyes

and unrest to the night and sleep

with poets, reporters, and authors alike

guilty of cruelty to random thoughts

for how are they to care for so many

how are they to capture and hatch

all the ideas that linger in memory's shells 

these cooped up feathered fiends 

have to be let loose when 

their numbers grow too great

and when they take flight

the sight is magnificent

though some may not always fly for long

while still others can result

in a library blacking out the sun

The waltz

the eyes peer down

it's momentary, but eternity

when it happens

the world surrounding 

is a whirling blur

and though it has all

the greatest glamorous frills

that gilded crowd has no importance

as with the glances

a warm breath descends

falling softly upon flesh

these moments are the same

for the heart as a light finger is

dragging along the inside of the forearm

hands grasp onto each other

for fear the music may fling

the bodies apart

but those eyes looking down

in every little glance

those eyes melt away any chance

of that ever happening

the gravity from them is stronger

than the unseen tether of 

the earth to the sun

let the fingers keep creeping

over the ivory keys and 

the hands keep pulling the bow

over the catgut strings

let the end of the song only

be the beginning

and the soles of the feet

lose all feeling

the intoxicating sway holds

fast to the trees in the evening breeze

and all is lost in the eyes

that peer down

 

Murder mystery

 it was dug up when the moon

was half there and half there not

they had been searching for it

in fact that was all they had sought

but once it was taken up and

removed from its earthly tomb

they had given up everything else

having no other life to resume

yet in that moment of discovery

when the height of the story loomed

all had come together to feast

and revel in that of the exhumed

but the glory still fades on

any ole thing that has come to light

and what was once elusive

can now easily hide in plain sight

for the table can be set so grand

full of feasts to account for in history

but experience and intrigue die

when knowledge coldly murders mystery

Daily ten

 crawl into the cave

the hollow of the mind

when the worries mass

have been swept away

a barren chamber echoes

the silence of eternity

nothing pools within

it ripples with each breath

the miniature tides carry

on the ins and exes of hale

with as much carried out

there is just as little carried in

this soulful excavation 

with its absent pitiful hole

was never the moment's goal

for the body is just a glazen bowl

it needs to be emptied when it's full

and needs to unbind the fluid soul

embrace the moon to throw it away

the ebb and flow will mediate

Rattled

there's a rattling inside

some sort of signal of bells

old, thinly hammered chimes

like those wrapped round bovine necks

the clanging, relentless

just within the ears

just beyond the brain

the bending of a joint

that's running low on cartilage

the clattering bones

which sing the same as trees

a groan in clanging chimes

time's escaping, falling

out like stones

rattling inside a shaman's rattle

the chiming of the earthly tones

the bells are ringing home

Unsaid

the numbness lingers on my lips

the stillness of your breath

when it used to heat my skin

those winter day endings

being lost in the sunset glory

framed by cottonwood elders

the numbness lingering on our lips

from the bitter cold's kiss

we always had wished more than this

yet now I only long and miss

those times when your eyes

were as endless as the western Kansas horizon

and when we danced in glances

passing each other's windows

feeling the knocking of the heart

yet kept to the stranger's fence

but savored every moment peering through it

both of us never finding the words

escaping our tongues as a tide of birds

still lost in all of what was there and unsaid

lingering in the numbness on my lips

A silent night

 lost in the smoke

as it flutters in the currents

rippling out into the air in the room

fading into its expanse

the spicy rum runs too smooth

over tongue, warming soft palette

and the great beyond

while its spirits rise 

and stir their own smoke

within cranial corridors

the night rain tickles both

the cold glass panes 

and ears longing for a certain voice

the crack of a memory 

as lightning thunders in the distance

being so evident yet so evidently unattainable

when life's warring tides have pulled apart

leaving absence in the numbing peace and despondency

ears still longing for thunder

whatever they can grasp onto in that vacancy of voice

In two breaths

 an exhale of awe into the descending night

in fading light and hue

in losing sight of you

in your presence fading from view

an inhale of exhaustive devastating sight

in hosting a vacant guest

in the counting of one less

in farewells to slumber rest

an exhale of falling downy frozen white

in mid-winter ponder

in mindless mental wander

in destinations off yonder

an inhale of a numbing, lamenting plight

in remorse of the unsaid

in paths where we were led

in grasping through life for the dead

Hold

 the disturbed soil isn't for you

that's for seeds to fall into

for rain to be cradled by

and for sun to crack into plates

you aren't below its surface

that's for worms to tunnel through

for roots to expand into

and for toads to slumber in

that box isn't your bed

boxes are for cargo or music

or miseries of this earthly existence

and no matter how deep the earth holds you

let me hold you deeper

you can breathe through my lungs

and count the days from the beats of my heart

you can clothe yourself in my skin

stare down your fate through my eyes

and when you finally tire 

you can lay my body down

to that ground you don't belong to