Will He Nil He, He Goes

The tiger is drowned
As the trees bow down before
The hiss of the rain

A Swift Comparison with Little Explanation

Darkness covers the hand from the eye,
As lovers lie beside a world
Which lives in the voices that rise upon clouds
And hounds those who wander alone.
Sudden moon dazzles the blood, shining over
Shadowy trails, dividing, and the disquieted sole.

The Year of Confusion (46 B.C.)

Jupiter casts his spell

over life to blossom,

sweetly imbued with beams

and mist from mystical crevices.

This calms us down,

his contortion towards the heavens,

causing the casual sleeve

to fall and bare a dying force,

arms pale with fear,

spotted in the spire light.

Staged in spring,

the incense smells

no better than the blood on the walls

or the dead of winter.

Our jesters gesture

to confuse the farmers,

their eyes tire from fields and skies,

for fine fair-fanfares feel

as if time were alive and wild,

kicking out of control.

In this new year, chronologists grin

despite the choice

that our Kingdom rejoice

while the cold destroys us all.

Far-gone Night: Dreams by Candlelight

Evenings dealing light aloft
Beyond our sight to stars so soft.
Fitting feelings 'tween the suns
Upon those dreams where passion runs.

Purple captured among the leaves,
Little lungs to hold the breeze.
Hanging deathly silent face,
Lifeless meadow, black in space.

Supernova, mystic steam
Upon the mind of those who dream.
Dawning drowning sleep with light.
One can keep what not in sight.

Conviction While Departing the Parish

This precious counting of moments,

as bud to bloom to blossom,

grows sweeter with every breath.

I am caught in love out of the corner of my eye.

Stupefied by beauty, the unfolding of our Farther,

I wander prayerfully in the night.

What eyes! To ponder the planets and stars within,

What grace! To sway in the winded momentum of words,

What harmonious aroma! To heal my senseless heart

And by such precious sentiment alone

does happiness sustain past the moment.

Flesh will fade and locks will grey,

but the smile that shines on and binds one to another

will forever satisfy in this restless endeavor of breath.

My heart faces the moon

And from a field of silent surrender

I hunger for that shining harmony,

when I return to you.

Tripping on the Floor

Your scarf was on the floor,
waiting for your head.
Your ears were restless,
waiting for a sound to come again.

How dreary, thoughts of socks and paranoid eyes.
You thought of your face,
then mouthed the words to a song.
You thought you were alone.

Hunched over your knees with your head on the scarf,
you tried not to move.
Someone out there will love the way you howl in the cold.
Someone will study your eyes and noises
as you burn with a fever.
They will drape their hair over your skin and smile.

You held your breath in ecstasy, waiting,
as the phone came crashing to the floor,
ringing once with its last words.
Upon the window, the rain nodded off.
How graceful it is in its exhaustion.

A tired voice once read, pitter-patter on the pane.
So long, pitter-patter on the pane.
So long ago, you were afraid of death and painted faces.
You were blond and wore red socks in the rain.
You cried until dizzy with self-pity.

You were tingling all over, waiting in an accident,
grinning behind the ruin of your little world.
Now you were tripping on the floor.
Your socks were gray.

Your hands melted out of reverence for the buried few.
Hail Mary, hello, how are you?
Deeply, I breathe thine roses.
Deeply, I dove for the moon,
only to miss everything.

96 Remembers 69

Ours was the grey by the willowing bay,

Where tides, alone, took dry away.

I let mine flow with nothing to show,

But that was nearly a century ago.

Might I have saved those colors I shaved

For just another year,

Would I be brighter and most of life lighter?

In sight of that, I fear.

Still, home is the place, no matter my face,

Where ambrosial colors draw near and embrace.

My sun-dried sin, so real back then,

Likely that he has forgotten again.