Reach out with a fish bone finger to touch the face of youth.
Using the senses to recall what life once felt like.
Reach out with a fish bone hand.
Wrap it around the shoulder of death,
Make him a welcome guest, so that he may bring you peace and comfort.
Reach out your fishbone arms.
Embrace the soul of winter.
May its cold nature light a fire in your bones.
Lay down your old fish bones
Lay down that old skeleton, so you may find a new kind of skin

Your Beautiful eyes, they can look right through me.
There is no lying when you don’t use words.
Still secrets can be passed in silence.
You weaken me, the only thing that can cut right to my core.
I may be a rock, but you used to erode me in beauty.
You were a sculptor.
You were a vision.
You were inspiration.
Now you are a diamond, harder than any stone cutting anything you wish,
But so beautiful, that you put envy in every eye.
A diamond made by the rough in which you are found.
You shine like a star that can never be touched.
But that is why I prefer the night sky.

The Sky is growling like a beast
Set upon stalking, hunting.
It is only heard,
Everywhere
All around and all at once,
But definitively being no where.
Breathing with a low rumble, speaking with a roar
Whispering secretes, screaming a soothing melody in the fire crack
Hazy reflections dodge there way through the skies tears,
Finding the dry space between.
Ripples in the road side puddles
Roaring waterfalls falling from the forest leaves
Single rain drops, peace full in solitude.
But together they cause the clawed creatures to cower,
The predators they feel as the prey
8-29-07 (6:30am)

In a dream
I feast on frozen fields.
With the campfire fiend at the tree line, a place to sleep in the dirt below the frost line
The brazen and the bold dive between the arrows of a coward’s bullet
Cold steel from a hot barrel, seeks warm flesh to make a statement.
Bones rattle in anger as they lay upon the ground.
Relics of Violence,
A mosaic street made of bullet casing and blood soaked bandages,
A rich tapestry,
But a haunting canvas.
Sounds of horror lose there meaning when children’s tears only water next years crop.

Awake in a shattered window
Glass pain made of the Plain of Existence
Broken pieces of our lives upon the ground
Blissfully unaware of what has befallen
Shattered conception……
Complete with cutting sharp edges of reality
When you try to fix the pieces
When you try to pick them up
It cuts you,
Bleeds you,
Drains you,
When they fall, let them stay
Walk softly with a tender foot
Proudly with a callused heal
Craft a new glass with fingertips
Break the old with a closed fist