Your heart is my home
it holds me up
from the mud
(when it holds me)
and down to earth

When I hold you,
you float my heart
(you hold it then
when you smile)
out to orbit yours
there in infinity

Kepler seemed to get it,
the closer you are
the faster  you go
towards

being further

(far...)
and



further

moving (...slowly)
slow
and

slower

away from (your focus)
your shining star.

It's a quarter past 3,
AM or PM, I'm not sure
The bottle's half empty
but maybe it's the second or the
third or the fourth,
it's hard to tell when they're smashed
Now it's a quarter full.

I think it's foggy outside,
but it might just be in my head
and it's cold and damp,
but it might just be in my head

My splitting head,
My own, cleaving,
continental rift

It's a quarter past 3,
again? I'm not sure, maybe
it's just been a minute. The
bottle's only half full.

The smoky smell of autumn leaves
settles inside my mind,
like a rose petal
fossilizing inside a mountain

In wintertime snowfall
blankets the blemishes

In springtime rosebuds
seed the air with hope

By summer the air
is pregnant with passion

But I fall more in love
with each autumn day,
her palette of colors
coalescing to your hazel eyes

The mountain swells from the ground
like a tsunami
She lilts up it's slopes as
a deer streaks past,
I stop to watch but immediately
my love calls me
"Higher," she beckons

The trees thin out
in the asthmatic air
from here the earth blooms
forever to the lip
of the sky, where
the wind whispers Fate
I stop to listen
"Higher," she beckons

The air turns to ice
I can just see her face through the howling snow
giant boulders emerge from the storm
monolithic faces
their eye's alight with Prometheus
and from their mouths
I hear Pandora's consequence,
but there is no time
"Higher," croons my angel
and disappears in the flurry

"Higher," her disembodied voice echoes
but I'm at the summit
The wind whips my face
the Moai groan at my feet
Pandora murmurs away

"Higher, higher, higher,"
chants my love
But I am at the summit
the valley looming below like a dare

Fate screams Her secrets,
begging my ear
but she urges me on
"Higher, higher, higher!"
so I jump

Hanging around the old cabaret,
where nighthawks steal glances
at the curators of tired eyes,
the walking dead take leave
of their senselessness
entering blurred reality

Someone calls for another round
shouting fire down his throat as

A dart nicks the narrow space between
two fates and falls to the floor
avoiding both,
leaving him in a rage

She pockets the change they left her
or forgot, while
laughs infuse the acrid smoke,
ricocheting into nothing

Cardinals
flying south for winter-
red leaves Fall