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Those leaves were once green
When once I looked out that tall window
Those branches will be bare soon
Frost may cover those nine window panes
Snow may be piled precariously,
Holding its breath to stay atop top branch.

Time passes slowly here, words pelting
A tired mind. But wind stirs again
Wind buffets fall’s leaves, forced suicide.
I do believe I may not recall the proper
Amount of time, neither in time before
Or in time after. But wind stirs again.

Leaves stand still now, only stragglers
No awareness of leaves above or below
Torn and ravaged, missing their once
Cheerful red friends. Wind buffeting
Their small limbs and fragile veins.
No hope for them. But wind stirs again.

Those three days of warmth seem imagined
Was I dreaming when one night’s dusk
Brought us forty and below while the
Next day’s dawn ushered in the seventies?
With ups and downs winter and spring life
Cycle's nonsensical meaning. Mind stirs again.
I’m watching lives,
lives that might’ve
been mine
flit in and
out of impressionistic
existence in the days of
bursting moments
breeding sculpted trees into living
instruments breaching screeches
throughout our ears.

gods! How long it’s been
since eternities
spent lying
white lies across pale
secrets spilt on carpets
of ash inhaled to
just get past another still life of
tangled cigarettes atop
those books I
can’t remember breathing

in picnics painted with
green black stares of
stripped down cathedrals and
I’m leaving to repent my
thoughts twitching along
steel cords killing visions of storm
tossed seas smiling at
friendly dragons green,
just him and me laughing at
St. George’s dying look.

Cat’s cast bronze curls
inside sleeping shirts hanging
off the back of
suicide notes, shoulders bent
while we stare and
dare to listen to lives not
ours to live. Chocolate covered
whiskers fixing colors for our
pictures; but it’s all
false imaging anyway.

Pirates and witches taking
shots at our thoughts
downing liquored treats
divining dances towards the driven
roads leaking floors feeling
beats crackling down
our spine; cigarette
kisses in cafe corners
watching stars explode blank life in
gold spattered sheets.

A lone man hanging life ten
thousand miles high falling
into swirling cotton candy flames
and how I want to
believe it ever really meant
anything at all! Footprints
never changing in the
Moon lit laughs down streets
I hardly care to remember.
Black Crow!

Black Crow! How you
seem to fall out his eyes
crying chlorine tears into a
mouth never coughing up
life and breath lost on the
backs of laughter smiling mirrored
spirits of fleeting peace reflecting
tomorrows lives back to our
eyes searching fabled bravery
in Arsenic's cup.

We’re all trying to see past
our eyes and
understand how we
can trivialize the rings of
swirling flames blinking in
Sol’s iris; photographed
silhouettes tying
tongues to labeled nebula
in one junkies eye
reflecting the need

gnawing upon my
mind watching your
thousand smiles spend
my time and I’m trying
to remember what it meant
to see another breaking
mountainsides, ninety mph
vibes falling naked in the
grass underneath
your back.

I’d rather watch ghosts
doubled, holding islands
of dust solidified on those
stone cold basement
floors fighting clothing to chase
an innocent drunk down stairs
falling into nights 900 miles
away, memories I don’t have
cast aside, tiny capsules
encapsulating dying fires.

How G and R and
E reflect the sun in
skies dancing floating
clouds just gone by,
making friends with a
blaze of smoke pouring
out our words in the hue of
blue; lit cigarettes
catching the cold rim of
nights growing old

with fungus, chemicals
washed up on the edge of
photographs stained with
pieces of a memory in
a lamps single light; I’m
borrowing camera’s to
impress a girl entwined
in spiders silken webs
hanging voids of
every colored space.

And god, how young
these faces look, too
young in the company of
these stars scratching
at the door to break out
of these times; lost
bicycle rides down aisles
playing with Atlas
shrugging off his burdens
to ride 25 cent smiles

in the lights of tonight’s
fires dragging branches
dried of sunlight spilling
golden liquid out of
plastic red cups. Freshly
tattooed haircuts watching
in all earnestness
growing old and pretty
soon all our hair will run out
of our skulls to cover

the bathroom floors in
**** and *****
covered stardust;
we’re peaking our heads
out the shower
while we dance tip toed
steps across the
branches growing out of 
decks into frozen
chemical nights.
You are reading this.
You are invisible to me.
I am invisible to you.
I was at an art show.
A large group of people were there.
I saw their bodies, but there were no names attached.
No stories of their lives.
No anecdotes about them.
Even though I could see them, they were invisible.
But, there is something visible about all of us.
We know each other well.
I danced the seven animals.
Then I danced them backwards.
We are all deluded about the nature of life.
It may be written, it may be being written.
I saw the Great Mountain.
The dead have never left us.
Johnny Carson was on television tonight.
I had a fear of my inside world years ago.
I thought it was my back.
I thought it was dark.
There was trouble in my head.
I thought the scene outside was where it was.
It took much study to once again love my inner world.
I loved it as a kid.
I am a kid again.
Buddha talked about
the elephant
who travels alone
without master or friend
as company
and a friend of mine
asked me
to be his friend
but I said
I was an elephant
so he looked disheartened
and I knew what a foolish elephant
I was.
Take me away
to another time,
another place

Where no one died
and angels sing.
Where there is laughter
and fresh spring days.

Take me away
to another world,
another space

Where people learn
and dance with joy.
Where there is music,
and fairy tails come true.

Take me away
so I may play,
To make music ring
and people free.
the old ways are the powerless
they can and will do nothing
they are impotent... and dying
the new ways are the living...
and ever the changing...
they are life
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