He sleeps while millions
of words are spoken-
flattened by a dream.

He stood at the summit
where boundaries don't exist
and restless souls glare
with eyes like fire.

No, this was the real world!
the metropolitan neon,
with its machinery, bellowing insidious vapors.

A dream intermingled
with this misshapen terrain.

the emerald city atop the summit-
cracked windows
and small tenements.
a dream within a compacted dream.

I spent the night alone
the houses hollowness felt like some old kingdom,
without enchantments.

My mind belongs to me
so I thought.

I wanted company
I wanted to touch you again
just for a while.

But I have no adornments
and nothing of my own,
except a few tattered books on poetry, and 30 bucks for *****.

Tonight the dog won't even sit
so silence becomes a companion
along with two bottles of ***.

I drank and drank
until I became dismembered from my own body.

I spent the night alone
quietly drinking with friends.

Millions of words being spoken,
electric bills half paid the city, a strange construction.

memories of cracked windows,
and small tenements with no privacy.

The metropolitan lights
like some ongoing hallucination.
Mounted machinery, categories with insidious intent,
coffee shops full of early workers with their heads buried earth metals.

Rome Reborn.

The bus comes at 9 am
Her face is frozen
from silent December winds.

she can hear the engine
groaning like a trembling scream.
Her hands shake at the thought of change.

Going east in autumn
pondering mothers death-
as she deals with the spaciousness of being alone.

All this travel-
aligning herself with the landscape,
and plummeting into an unseen gravity that home has always had.

Tired clouds in open skies,
they tower over me as I wander through golden wheat fields,
we raised our hands, toward the heavens, and she -delighted to be free, laid her curly hair atop my weary shoulder.

In these moments
I'm free like you? she said.

We have all to chased a heaven,
how long will my heart pulse for that dream world?

maybe I should search close to home,
and focus on the morning blossoms,
and wandering cattle.

Perhaps the flickering of a candle can produce the light I need.
Maybe I think of heaven because reality is like a flooded freeway, and I have no wings.

The arid mind
Contemplating northern hemispheres.

I born of iron
A nomadic pastoralist lingering within small towns.

Barefoot
Walking along the Arabian peninsula, trapped, tawny, weakend.

I’d like new material
New expressions and old smiles,
Fresh movements, and subtle gestures.

The ritualistic movements, the way she waved  with her  broken smile.

She wanted to be illuminated, but I was too far in the shadows, beneath the earth in Some primordial vault.

Perhaps our worlds were two different, perhaps our inability to think past our own planet caused  The dissolution of sanctity.

O  sweet angel, when you move west don’t forget about the eastern coast, don’t forget about our hands and how they fit, don’t forget about the innumerable tress,  and how we got lost on those mountain paths, Don’t forget how I looked into your eyes and saw Olympus.

Are union was built, but like Rome, or  Carthage, Things fall apart as time pushes toward the ever present power of finality