Vivienne

Out from under, 
some swallow’s tail dead, 
from the cold no child will know, 
a poison trickling, 
a stopper wished but faintly, 
to fate’s ends, dreamt awake she would, 
to make out or off, 
but reason nay, 
for mine own spring it is, 
that swallow wing, 
my throat did breathe not hers, 
only echoing did she muster, 
or so memory would bent be while, 
delusions like steam, pulse forth anon, 
fogging the view ever more, 
of my dearest my darkest, Vivienne.

Some Amusing Thoughts

Perhaps the more salient question is not why does the universe exist; rather, why do we, who evolved in this universe, possess the power of imagination?

Humankind will never be able to validate a teleological construction of the universe looking backward.  We may only look forward to the day when we might validate it by recreating the future.

We are not Gods, after all; we not only create, but enjoy surprises from time to time.

In Our Eden

walked stalked the slightly brightly

shimmer and shame, sinner and dame

do don't make the rounds

your broiled coils spoiled and foiled

out in fake the sounds

bitten, smitten, eaten then beaten

stocked, shocked the whitely knightly

hammer and bane, manner and same

don't do stake the bounds

my soiled toils oiled and boiled

in out wake the hounds

written, kitten, paired then snared

hawked, mocked the lightly rightly

slam her and deign, laughing and pain

do don't ache the sounds

who be the cat of many hats

and who then the snake e'er awake

in our Eden.

Passion Flower

Why you, again, my sweet perfume

Hanging over, dripping on,

Real and knot, still and caught

Sauce upon, salt along

Haunted trails in dreams I've sailed

Remembered 'til,

Luscious, ever.

You now, again, in our lagoon

Do taste my soul

Did haste our tole

Extracted out and 'bout my neck

Were it yours, my lips crave check

To dine, to feed, then seethe and roil

Our passion known, our stars embroiled.

Will decades ebb, flown by, our nights

Tickled under, throbbing through

Direct and sot, perplexed yet naught

Could tame such bleeding, ticking, heeding,

When uncaged, why do we

Deluge our room with heavy see

Escaping, never.

Would echoes drown, grown by, our heights

Wishing after, wanted in

To more than pique, inside her case

Flesh sweeter, softer would she deface

To more than be, in his embrace

Shell off, claws bye, awash in lace

Our key to lose, Pandora oiled

Our love to make, though future coiled.

Naught but a world may derail us

Eternal, not merely,

Our novel,

Semantic.

Naught but suffix may divide us

Full, not less

Our hope,

Romantic.

To Ours

My ode to Katherine

sung sweet and silent 'neath

August's longer shadow

some tempest forewarned then

in breeze not seen

Now

miles counting ever

sands echoing thither

selves knowing other

and another

Is unto these two given

from what sweet and silent song

they need care not

for it is singing

And

they are listening

and awaiting

in ardent

love.

Homage to One Son of Elihue

There then beneath one ton
Cement powdered and blistering and warm
This man a builder and damn
No word to loins learned youth

Under some tree or another fighting
Bleeding yearning lusting turning
No brother of hers will cry
Nor mother of his would die

Had not some plane downed deserted
And bee hive foreseen not forsook
His memory we cherish but
His body lives on now and

Never, more loved.

Time

another youth reflected and imagined

musician made moved marvelous

woolly wrap heard loved hoped

listening then as now tasting

rhythm vibration harmony

it is me i tell them

then and there and ever where

bouquets of ears looking

nectar oozing finding

beating fast hot white and sleight

and those drums they do not

stop their rambling building pumping

lose their screaming popping withering

end their chilling ceasing crumbling

find their breaking baking bubbling

until the time has come

did come will come

to create again

and then we all will circle

and deliver unto us once more

time.