The wings of dusk

Continuous and swarthy patterns
that landscape at my eyes
moving over tethered ropes
that boldly flutter among the ties,
wings that flap against the stone
reaching the never do heights
heavy breath and racing hearts
feeling the cold and bitter bites,
the gnawing of another day
breaking through the meaty brawn
tensing all that one creates
night crushing temples pawn,
muddy spew in un-gripped hands
no gasping left within bird
a shadows ridge at dawnings gate
and the painful admission of word.

The playful tide

There is a wellness deep inside
like the swelling of an ocean wave
it curdles over in flowing foam
and crashes in devastating rage,
but countenance is non consoling
to such a tyrannical kind of play
it dismisses the song of dashing
in an effortless breath of disdain,
yet the waters don’t go so easily
they thrash upon the brow
pulling and tugging asunder
crushing deep as that of a plow,
but soon the shorelines fall silent
where the sea has come to reseed
and calmness now is all knowing
with gentle gestures of one to take heed.

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.

Breaking in

Sometimes I hear beautiful things
and they layer over my soul
drifting past my memories
through the thick layers
of a fluid subconsciousness,
other times I see horrific images
and they blend with the shadows
melting into my imagination
over the depth of oceans,
there are places I have felt too
all around my fervent scope
exploring every facet
as a fish might swim through space
or a rabbit on the moon,
but I know what these are
they are figments of creation
a point in time where everything wishes to be
but tumbles back into the splitting seconds of the day,
where sometimes they don’t stop again…

Tapping out the blind

I stammered across the open flay
and gathered my thoughts awry
standing by the wayward winds
the aerie songs in pitch to fly,
and upon the slated restful tear
arose the open heartfelt clear
of the infinite laying road of sheer
that walks one on to the face of fear,
and here to say I speak no cheer
upon festivities of yesteryear,
for alone we die to the living sneer;
where the coil it sheds to the hearkening.

March May June and I

Lost within the phantasmal mime
slowly turtle whittle rhyme
to make the Mary meet,
twas here she says the sands were time
but the shoes were nigh the fit,
and every crooked shell she finds
is buried deep the darkest minds
where rabbit suffers curdling whine
and forever somewhere is set divine
along the favored pith,
but June May follow along the weigh
on coming with every flora
dash the spring and terse the noose
that chides the way for summers plethora,
making gusts for turtles chimes
as he fiddles his home from out sublime
and dons his napping cat mistime
to wake forlorn for dinner.