Side note

I don’t mean to be, I just seem to be
eyes that look over misty sleets
ears that listen in shady tones
picking up the scents of creeping,
my feet have moved over broken bone
and found their way in feeling
touching all that comes my way
splintered teeth and creeks in fleeing,
cold airs upon my twisted neck
all bound in wintry branches
covering my naked body hence
tender kisses and violent lashes,
so sleep to snuggle bound me soul
wrapped in the leaves of falling
I weep in cradles all spilling over
swollen limbs and blood are scrawling.

Damaged repercussion

Little falling Holly
was sitting beneath the rows
of broken tattered faces
all wrung and wrought with foes,
across the seas of happiness
where everyone paints their face
to look as real as real can be
conformity in displace,
these rivers thrash and overflow
in rising weeps and waves
washing the hands of bloody trace
and crippling cracks of broken graves,
yet still the stillness
it clamors through
like the flora of afternoon
seeking desperate the sunny rays
of an end that comes too soon.

Laden caverns of heavy breathing

Drops are falling
like wind in heavy storms
they scatter in all directions
seeking out their pattern
looking for their place,
sometimes though
the sky is dark
and nowhere leads to landing,
footing moves on iffy paths
and eyes seek out withstanding.

The hopeless are still in standing
with holes agape their chest
and weeping goes on for miles
fluttering sounds of never rest,
knuckles reach over the broken
knowing little of what they seek
and yet the hearts are flooded
overflowing
resting in pools of reflection;
so plainly I beseech thee
lay me down in peaceful sorrows
and spare me the introspection.

The bay of morrow peak

I saw the paint

sweet Jean Marie,

there was fauna on the vines

tears were strewn to the rivers

and clouds all broke from sun shine,

brushes all danced within colors

hues in shades of strain

the moon facing all delights

and daylight harboring pain.

 

Tiny strokes of little blends

puffy skies of woven lament,

I saw you there my sweet Marie

under crowds and chaotic light

above songs in bright delight

between the stars up close

and the ones way out of sight.

 

Your fingers moved in gentle might

where your heart was in a song

and the mind was deep within its flight

but the woe was much to strong,

and the pull lulled you asunder.

 

Still shines the glitter of your pave

where your feet are still in wonder

great visions lost in after thought

and the treads of sullen blunder;

tis here my darling Jean Marie

I find you as my painting

hanging graceful upon the nigh,

where here upon the flowered wall

in all its creepy crawling

the tones of shades a bleeding

at the silence of your calling.

 

I’ll hear you now from the end of time

reaching through your veil

harboring lonely lullabies

as the sun is set to sail;

beauty has never been so lost

as the song of my sweet Marie

like a dream wrought out upon the page

or a scene that was meant to be.

A whispering breadth

Lo good night what dreams may follow

when the sleep is fraught with dark

murky brethren within the hollow

making the mind brim with froth;

at the breaking of the shallows.

To what sight does the day break light

when the folly are all encumbered

the stormy dismay of many falling

to the waking of those in slumber.

Tis’ the tidaling among the crash

as fallen walk from hiding

the ox and lion graze freely

as it veils the well upon rising.

Hues of slumber

The darkness dank and creeping so

reaching in to scratch the soul

mists from deep within the soil;

drags the moist and undead limb.

 

Standing tall the orchard moans

cracking Earth dark undertones

writhing cries from the witchy crones;

tapping the red mans horn.

 

These are the night of the flitting dream

where the thick of dark in horror scream

consciousness caught in a fluttering stream;

as a fly, is to the web.