drifting
I seem to live right there
anymore

the tide washes me clean
then crashes
me on the shore

I seem to ebb
with the moon's
phases

like the sounds
of the animals
bay and call

from the shore
the seagull's caw
every wave

my life my death
and I taste salty
and sweet

see depth
see foam and everything

lord
i am
an
empty vessel
rain down on me
no more walls
nor
boundaries
i
will obey

i'm losing myself in your hazel portal.

--------------------

fingernails, the endless target of fear, blunting the intensity of your golden-gate conscious,
bear enough of this weight to mortalize Atlas.

the pathetic, monotone static in my head is a train barreling towards an unfinished bridge,
my cynicism a pew destroyed by debris,
my outstretched hand a burning bible.

in my back-alley existence,
you are an ocean-wide coral reef of altruism and hope,
beaming with enough passionate hue to feed the starving.

i am twiddling my sprained, charcoal thumbs out of rhythm,
selfishly consuming your complexion like a leech

hazelwood briars brown the forlorn
fallen limbs on the ground the next step watched
for slithery snakes amongst the dappled
sun contrasts and deep shadows
make great
camouflage make great hiding places
makes the mind seek
the mowed lawn manicured
barefoot I spend time like
my ancestors
naked roaming
the deepest wildest places
in nothing but shivers
and teasing the insides my recesses
into seeking out the forbidden
shallow ponds soft silty bottom
the rivers banks
a tall oak on the side of the hills
majesty
the elm on the lee side of that hill hidden from
eyes and so peculiarly begging,
calling me
seducing
swaying in the sunlit portions of all of
the fronds edges the mosses
the mushrooms sprouting
a soft bird shrill
a move is a whistle
the loneliness a thrill
the caution in the breeze
a passing will

In order to feel that,
one must eschew dog
in favour of cat food,
install a ski lift,
give short change and
shorter shrift,
paint palindromes
torch light garden gnomes
take out pay day loans
and skip town.

It surely follows on that
when the day has gone
the night appears,
and owls eyes scan the
fields for mice.

I have nine lives
used up one
and twice I've nearly split
from number two,

it's the catgut or rotgut
or the garden hut for me
where no one sees the
madness in my eyes,

there's only reflected light
in these cats eyes

At dusk I hang up
a worn blue work
shirt that smells
strongly of love
of dirt of the earth
melancholy, sweat
yesterday's brews
the blues, regret
twenty cigarettes
black breath
of the bone moth
old blood, moon dust
spring pollen, summer
grass, Autumnal ****
winter's cold blast
sea salt and pine needles
mountain laurel, desert air
my dog's hair, I swear
I can't bear the thought
of washing or throwing away
all the stains, the growing pains
the laughter, the sorrows
these history lessons I need
to get me through tomorrow.

you have this spot archived like right in my iris a place forefront in my cerebellum a name I see in granite written
childhood's innocence rebirthed sidewalks chalked in squares
hopping skipping again
a great change a revisit to the passions of youth
and I want to innocently kiss you love
a first kiss a blush again
the rush flowing like the winds from the west
carrying essences of tropical plants
morning coffees on that porch
I have in this premonition