country grass… xv

Universal Happiness

Swells up inside her breast
Reaching for tenderness
Broken trees watch the ways we talk
Buried beasts crawl,
Out in day, into my garden mind
They are spraying poison
What I’m breathing in.

But I look so fine
And under umbrellas
This little trip is my getaway
On a summer day
Everyone in their shades
My present mind seems all it takes
To change my world

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August Shoots of Grass

August bamboo shoots collect the
Elixir of life in cylindrical cones
Reaching into heaven a proud emerald green.
A decortified tool of reinforced grass.
A lone raven lifts a wing and
Alights to the top branch of a juniper tree.
The sound from the black
Canvas attached to his frame
Shook me.
As if animal nature
Had power to generate a gust
And the will to turn his fury into a storm.
The raven swayed with his neck
Held close to his body.
The Wind obeyed him.
August shoots of grass
Across grandmother’s bearded chest.
I passed a building of Twombly’s architecture
Admiring twisted pillars and broken mirrors about the front door.
I was surprised at the absence of evil.
Orbs hung before the walls and
Wicked wires played in space. But all
Was only suggestion.
A wounded hound guarded the corner of his room
Wrapping his injured body pitifully
Around his wounds
Snarling towards the door
There was nothing to relieve his pain.
An owl in the rafters of the shed watched his every move.
The raven moved from the juniper and rested upon the fence
And watched his every move.
Tattooed women lay in the grass and
Watch his every move.
His grimace does not ease.
The face of his pain has a recognizable name.
A method of punishment exits within the subconscious.
The hound has forgotten his own name,
Knows only the howl of his pain.
Nymphs of uncut graves cannot help him.
Down the darkened road walks a being
Androgynous human he
Looks like a mountain of a man grizzled
By spit and Time
Beetles and food in his beard.
Pocket full of shells
Do I see you coming home?
Pocket full of shells.

Life Synchronous

Marmoset captain, visage powerfully scarred,
Visits the Moon Loon, his master’s brooding sea bard.
Crystal laughter across the faded shores
Stands mocking the Moth King in the face of his hordes

Vicious sunrise, open parcels of dawn,
She stopped a runaway train
Silken weavers of war
Bending fragments of lime
Memories in time

Fading from mind
Faeries laying in green clovers
Leprechauns  braiding roots in her hair
Dreams are frightfully cast
On the King’s bed of glass

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.

Amelia Earheart

Proud walk skinny with stained bodies
Observing reptilian sun
Don’t go away, don’t go away

Dirty mail sunk with Amelia
Scars on skin depict
100 year wars,
divine architecture,
and angels,
Don’t go away, don’t go away

Bodies of rising water
From mist to ice defined
The memory of this life
Lines to an unknown play

Don’t go away, don’t go away, don’t go away.

Whispers at Sea: VIII

Collective leadership should be on by law are cancelled out by actual cucullus nonfacit monachum. Heiderberg, the middle of the two cars and long light dressed as a sort of.. My night next to her mom and we start under current leading to secret. The clouds that obstruct his view fulfill our desires as the asking for money through the night, woods, gem and sage wrapped sky. Midnight through the roof. The yellow train is on the capacity. The mother of the ship is launched in to the sky. Stone walls often protrude feats of common bravery being filled, every time peeking. But I am, less until the day, giant. One of these for our arrival! Who is to judge our capacity? The bushes on the highway, for all. It has a canal running the dog howls at his yourself will become alive as me. Birds call from trees above there is a liquid a the soft holes, rings around the blazing sun. “Hey man, what we dancing on? The Dead of Bed number?” The one another through the valley runs on the beam. The Artist, Mother Nature, was held as most running and pivoting – I’m playing sea. Giant redwood trees and window on Abovian Street there, bottom of the giant hill outside. For the horse doesn’t, I wanted through the neighborhood or along or am I really trapped along grumbling to who will rushing, all you need is a shack to get by, Atlas Shrugged Ayn Rand. California window where happen to pass by turkeys dancing around the apple taking place within a month to nurture Mother Nature to her. A new Dr. Faustus with a love of thinking of a moth folding slowly quivering in my cup. We walked thru Martinez restaurant Chan’s, a favorite of “Tha’s what I’m sayin’.” Demanding order to carried out by I. Might as well be alone in a room crust of Earth to harmonize news, high fashion jewelry, pizzeria. The teeth are bared and one mouse falls from the beak. The Fox by D.H. Lawrence. Some foreign substance peeking the room. Two candle flames dance the snow we stepped our way of Oregon. Requirement so dumb people survive off the kindness of a fellow. Water? 500. Weren’t the one listening. I’ve covered myself with individuals. It’s 5:03 no one is in a hurry and other vegetables staring. Have I gone astray? A normal breakfast of great secrets of reality and seeing, and lightly to tap, and Marcellus? Would you leap from the Shiite militants join in push pride. In front of me a young man with – will he be made a spectacle of as if dressed? Meanwhile everywhere you seem weaving pathways on spilled autumn by the divine impression of the foot. Truths heavy on my mind. Night into new dimensions I breathe. There is another heaven and destroy drug price gauging hits hospitals too, Haitians struggling to find clean water, pay a dollar. You start to see complacency, you have the audacity to puppies like them. But the wild wind blows them hither. Book IV of the Analects: II. All by myself I cast my image over all shapes, the other half scattered. Allow the passerby to offer me, who are considered tame, with branches blessed by the graces.