I worry
For the unmoving mountain
Unable to move an inch
In the midst of an earthquake.
The shaking ground
Does not mean to destroy it
But it cannot be helped
When some things
Are just so obstinate.
They must survive
Or crumble.

The earth is changing beneath us all.
When the dust has settled,
Nothing will ever be the same.
Fall apart or carry on.

Somewhere along the line
From act, to speech to print
The text, made stained by mortal hands,
Condemned an act to sin.
The deed which brands us human
And binds the two as one
Where nature bequeathed liberty,
Religion came to shun.
The little death outside of law
That brings dual spirits close
Became an ugly, shameful thing
Beyond our own control.

If this is so, than **** my love
And send me forth to Hell
May countless masses follow
When commanded to be well.

I miss the excitement of liquor
The bite before the burn
Before the heat
Echoing up from my core
Like the refrain of a cannon's fire.
I miss the tiny suns in my cheeks
and the need to love and be loved
As the magic swam through my veins.
I miss the thickness of words
The gentle barrier between thought and speech
That made it impossible for me to tell him
That his eyes were like Spanish moss
And he smelled like the Northern wind.

I sought to forget one
Where others slept
Six feet below
Pristine lawns
And glistening headstones
That winked cheerfully
In the summer sun.
The gravestones were like stately soldiers
All in a line, the young like a mirror
And the old, stooped like the elderly
Telling the story of many rains, many storms
And many moons.
Their tales would momentarily
Fill my ears
My mind's desperate eye
To block a face
That still dwelt amongst the breathing.
A face whose significance
Needed to die
For me to continue leaving.

I remembered the other
Somewhere deep,
Leaning like an old painting
Against the inner curve of my skull.
That precious work of art
Filled my thoughts
While my feet dragged down
Countless miles
Dirt roads
Hot asphalt
And trodden trails.
There in my head,
The lost one,
The keeper of eyes like the sea
Existed only where my memories roamed.
He was not telling stories with the others
Six feet under
Nor did he pace amongst the masses
Wandering as I do...
He existed in the wind
In the air I tread through
In my desperate attempt
To have somewhere to visit.

Remembering to forget.
Forgetting to remember.

All things fade
Rain washes away the deeds done
Somewhere on the earth, in the trees
On a winding path, where the fireflies
Like failing Christmas lights flicker.

Yesterday, all things were dark
Like burning candles in the dusk.
Hibiscus, pear, and witches brew
And dragon's blood caught in the musk

Notions now, seemed **** then
And stealing out into the dark
I dreamt I was the highway man
After my Bess's fickle heart.

The moon above; cycloptic eye
Watched reverently as I crept
Across the mud and bracken path
Where willow trees once stooped and wept.

The musician crickets, with violin legs
Stroked their notes under the sky
And chirping peepers, peeking out
Sang louder in their sweet reply.

A long forgotten hidden grove
That bore the markers of the dead
Was where, for peace, I stopped to roam
Over the grass, to clear my head.

And there- amongst the silent mass,
Who find repose under the land-
I listened to their noiseless words
The silence, which I understand.

Everything was all
Lit candles and dusk
Hibiscus and pear
Unfurling out in smokey dragon tongues
Across my navy blanket.
Things seemed...
Sexier then
On a twin bed, surrounded by miles of
Forest.
Some nights,
Like a Highwayman
I stole away through the parting branches
The moon's cycloptic eye a beacon
Through the dead tree sea
And run to my Bess for kisses
Sweet, not-so-innocent touches
In the courtyard that overlooked
The Cemetery.