Whispers to Sea: XV – Final chapter

Single mindedness between high and low ranks. We may get some coffee to take the train, overloaded with packs stumbles onto the tracks past the jail. Tracks with my mother for she is a poet too, dirty kids with books on trains, on a wave with every pump of my calm train California not on beds but chairs. Headed for C. and I., his love. But people suffer and we forget all cooped up inside. And the moon stares into her mirror, orange lights at the station delivering pains. The first from Cupid’s dart gone, small lights dot the railroad. Companions’ doomed flight, train that is blocking their road. I see her jumping from their noses, rooms still lit, windows open, a round, plump face. Just carried it with him. My brain memorialize the trip but they fade. When I return home, a bottle! Esteban, Portuguese poet inhabiting the muck. The sun telling time, stir. The sun perks his rising ear to song. Above them a red apple, flamboyant reality. Esteban Vallejo hides in the jungle, is brewing to pick up these books. Good selection? Plus more. Sweat from the fire, stretching on wire calm comes northern California from the isolated jetty. Rainy for the weekend, a warm wood stove. Hear his rapid breath from one mountain to another. Summit days spent running through rain. Scared misinformed reptile importance of water and land, most loyal friend. Time I am not myself. Morning climbing meditative hill empty truck bed leaves of grass, Walt Whitman. I get high to escape and get away. Lines of birds along the shore move up to mark the tide. When I die light my body afire and set me out to sea. Drums roll by on the tracks and the Ruger in my hand yelps ignorant. “You probably should have paid.” Only days before the clouds rain ash, her lover was mightier than mountains calm walk under leaves over bridges, tripping in an opium meadow. Vehicle to keep out the harsh wind. Never wanted to grow up to be, to peek from the treetops breathing mountain air on love dropping jewels in my ear. Not an object for strangers to behold, looked and smiled. So we shared a wave. Field with a princes brown horse, road – Stoned. Birthday with my beautiful love, staring at purity. A kitten naps with me. It is only a matter of going (If you’re headed to Akkaba). Protests? Wonderful streets searching for the next cup of coffee. The Man exits. And I have surplus for hungry babies to feed. A strange upon the lids the strain. How when the leaves were green I was not the same. Inflation long quiescent is stirring, conspiracy charges misfire. You are me. And to Hell to take them home.

Always

Ivory moss is thick like water

A man pulls a curtain and steps
To the velvet portico

Purple clouds are masked in armor

Cedar woods are lightly freezing

A hooded swan reveals his covered head
Draws calculus inside a pond
With the soft beat

of his heart

Trinity

Broken one-eyed trees gape at me
Into the future.
Sweeping eagle of valerian joy
Unique beauty in blue fields of her boy
Into the future – You tell me

A childlike warrior with his nape inscribed
Golden dolphin popping bubbles of brine – In propeller seas
Dips into a fluorescent house of muse
And bops to tunes of wizard strings,
Stained skin and automatic blues
The piano whispers winded

Whispers to Sea: XIV

Strengthening of the solidarity and Vulcan was a blacksmith (God of War) warmer already. 9:45 and then wondering why all these people decided gravel on the road. A woman in the parking lot next to truck and listened on the northwest millions. I think of refugees sleep in rooms moving from Oregon to my light. Nature seems still and peaceful, expanse of water over there. Nosy, assuming too much. Home on humble waves. Every individual has felt love’s society changed to one so far sky and witnessed their a prolonged presence from a revolving through space and time American morning apartment of marks around the smudge of as me and he never left his bag. Pictures in the entire bay I am this water with two drakes, blockades, then a rooster mornings from nowhere birds start to kneeling next to Manzanita at fuchsia flowerings. An eyeball crushed in the carpet, the kitchen and a storm Tin Can Mailman of the moon decide to go home bent with the wind or sound racing back landside amber eyes flipping on a high wire. Elmo mixed veggies and liquados smelled of wine. One could doe and two babies eat at the paranoid and preaching the cuddling the cat warm with my overcome with guilt most the what a wonder to wake up in the hitch-hiker’s eyeing the Ivanhoe, Naked Lunch, dead all at once. Is love for the lover or the loved? Thank you. A bowl herbal mix-ology and the waves grow larger, meant to fill your earthly well Big Oil. I pump him full of lead artifacts, propagating trash, stoking fire logs in California. His last crackling croak across the crowded highway. Mouse opens her yes a human, what will be next? Away really, all I want is a long from tea lightly drifting windows and hay bales lined the idiots. They look like who they is Ruger. Busy markets and dirty districts and what kind of things are built among men. My legacy is my own. Old women there and she aw me shared the apple orchards and the kicking dust on the side of the more bookstores and happily a simple and kicks. But they are all safety and solitude peace. Who crossed the Nephood desert for it. Parallels between pipeline refuge will be enticed to move along these as three come down the alley. The product of my beating breast, the sweet dancing fire, has, as each leaf falls I am reminded of overseas, FBI internal feud over emails, how useless they can be. Monkey or a tree? No, much less. A blind child stared at just now to God to nourish foreign soils.

Crow

You should have seen her glow

After all the dirt was gone.
She had her cart. She was all clean.

She was shining

Change, change
We all see each other changing

At night, in the dark, there is no fire.
On a hill, through the trees, just off the side of the road.
With their sandals and boots they know the trail to camp.
They drink, smoke, keep one another safe.
Sleep under the stars.

They watch everyone always changing.

Wild Indians yelling, running down woods and dirt, happy and lost, at home.
Loud and drunk, just off the reservation.
Then falling noiseless on cement, young, asleep.

They watch each other change.
People look down on them.
They watch everyone change.

Heaving bodies in the night.
Keep everybody warm.
You should have seen her transform.

Eyes of gold.
Eyes of gold.
Her houri skull has eyes of gold.
I can’t sleep at night I think of her – Alone.
You should have seen her transform.

What happens at night when most are home asleep under covers with no cares?
Who worries?

Who is that woman in the camp there?
She looks older than before.
Her soul is painted like Mother Theresa.
The woman there is our mother.
For everyone.

Have you seen her change?

A crow plucks a feather from the high-wire.

Whispers to Sea: XIII

Unity is our invisible force – River. The last of Oregon air, it feels separate directions, I’m wondering. Crushing men shuffle about one man and put my ear to the iron rail. Search for cheese by the heart? Days to end, vagabond souls commotion of the night. Their lights forget the harsh elements and through cuts of trees some in fact taken is own. I am too leading the wayward floater one another’s efforts. A weary traveler, how has while others watched the whip the other direction to avoid across undulating Earth. And early in the you can see His fantastic design, thousand in the lounge cart the same time was the trees, different. Of the Golden Gate bridge across has showered – A black duck bathes in the valley melody and forehead, white socks and nose, foggy toads croaking, sniffing and kissing. Of a million dollars, Mother’s upstairs in walking into The Faces. Brothers Karamazov breath, I am the wind and bonzai trees over the beach back to safety without lightening athletic run and admire her window, old orange cat named The Earth was moist and run along the familiar running paths around them. God’s image; family. Swimming in the ocean overcome, reading Armenian stories at night. Under the sun’s beam key writings, Poe. New grass springs from the than progress further, putting two different weeds in, but calm now. A symbol of the compassion after chasing a housecat. “Is this an older one?” Hoarding useless, meaningless, knew she was in a cell. Fire, an untouchable bum starts to run revived to life the little to French dictionary to the hip. Now I’m getting carried, smooth breast, the stream rising them inside. Snow piled up to the comfortable men walking like fucking Day the dog, the pug, the name of native dirt. Wandering through he was thinking of his family, of life and not to become a builder. But this time as I passed there was a capacity for compassion and didn’t want to be at home short reading of Shelley, Emily. To express and so the gawks, macona and hash, moments of by that name I am known and I was one are fat shuffle to put books away. Soon we vagabonds bailing out of junky porto’ potty happiness sharing love for it is looses. Garden of Heaven – A quiet mission to export gay rights, high spending battle for senate control, particular human beings have shown you to me? Who? Equal to a fellow man virtue; the wise desire virtue. A red bird shakes the ancient elder tree to call to heaven and spilling your fruit.

Life

In the window sill
Bamboo reaches slow
Towards the nearest
Sliver of sunlight
Radiating off glass
So close to the cold
Wind bending the pine trees South
Where the snow spills from Winter’s mouth
Deep across the barren
Desert abandoned
Mother wrapped in holy
Blankets of her child
Worshipping the earth
With charcoal covered
Face hardened by age and wind
Winters under heaven stars home-
Less not looking to be found
She used to hold me
Across her lap and sing, look
Deep into my eyes
Reassuring me
That my soul echoes through
The heartbeat of mankind
Whispered voices from the stars
When my soul is singing of love