Where tumbleweeds go

 She's discovered now

where the tumbleweeds go

as they tumble further down

the windswept road

her body slumbers now

in the tall grass roots

where she had planted

her wild heart long ago

while her spirit soars 

on smoky raven wings

through storms of stardust

and moonlit thunder snow

her words, yes her words

they carry on

as lifting as feathers

as enduring as Poe

the weather she's known

in barren western lands

gathering love and hope

that she continues to sow

what she has given through

her beautiful, varied scars

to bless so many hearts

that she will never know 

- for my very dear friend, Ronda

Word

they will never understand

they admit to they know not 

how to open the book

they confess to they are not

allowed to open the book

they surrender, they will never

figure out how to open the book

what pulses deep within 

the leather bound cover

the searing light burning

within each timeless page

that severs the connections

of what one was before

with what one becomes after

the flickering knowledge

that engulfs the very spirit

igniting the reader's thirst

for more and more and...

just can't be ignored the

search through the tomes

the biggest bite one can take

of that ever juicy forbidden fruit

all the scribes have penned 

their blood in the streams of ink

each written word a scratch

upon wisdom's prison cell

where other saviors have failed

and apostles have missed the boat

it's the written memory, rapping

on everyone's inner door

dare to lift the dusty cover

dare to let it come in?

 

Snowflies

 as it grows in my belly

the want for what could've been

falls softly on the winter lawn

it's all frozen in moments

moments as many as the snowflies

that dance outside this February window

their intricate one-of-a-kind wings

flutter and fail, porcelain pale

as the corpses piled up

in regret and such

the midnight moons that dripped

into burning morning hues

and all the versions of you

but oh how tattered the mirror grew

how the reflection cracked

the ice underfoot on this February pavement

where the snowflies stick and melt and die

with all the hopes spent in fear

all the words spoke in fear

a life probably lived that way too

as it grows in my belly

this want that steals my sleep

watching the frantic life and death

of snowflies in the street light

Dripping

 these great manifestations

what, you reading this

and me typing this

and every little

fragment that falls in between

and out of sorts with the rest of it

that is why the world is coming

to an end

because it came from a beginning

bringing with it all these manifestations

and if you are to be happy

secure, in love, and that

someone must be miserable

though we try and preserve

we try and hold on to the smallest

percentage of matter in the universe

that is, what we are able to see

we want just that to go on forever

only 20 percent of all this existence

when we can be the continuous

wind that blows through these halls

we can be the stars that blow up, die out

and ignite again

because we are, and all that matter

we look at everyday doesn't really matter at all

we are merely drops of water yearning

to understand the ocean