Wet wood dampened by
Dew, dangling
Dark decrepit,
Dancers dancing,
Dilating down dungeon
Doors despite doom.
Death and determinism.
Death and the silent drifter…
Drifting near,
Kissing my wounded hand.
Lets hitch a ride…
Lets wash our hair in dreams,
Black visions in water’s memory.
Come grab hold his shoulder
And join the cotton
Crusade of the invading stranger.
Slowly approach the stream….
Gnawing water, twisting tongues
Vibrating channels of words,
The crescent moon’s soft creation…
Wounded trees thrown
By dark dissident whispers of evening,
Submerged beneath the
Inviting storm, cool callous chaos
Catalogs the cauldron
of contamination,
Condones the shades
Of madness, condones
The soft lament….
God, grant us grace given
Gold green gardens..
Grant us the hour of the workman’s
Tale, grant us islands of
Soft silver pearls,
blind visions of whiskey songs
and the sad refusal.
Grant us celebrating children in
Streets that choke grass,
The soft marriage
And the daughter’s opera….
God, grant us songs unspoken…..
Come, let’s melt butter on
wet candles and watch slow dripping
Tears redeem the world
And it’s velvet friendship.
Let’s divide the sky, pink pointed
Patterns painting pictures
Perfect and serene.
Let’s build rose islands
And swim beneath the mirror
Of rotating stars.
Lets swim the sacred channels
Of grace and submit the
Final Word…..
Come, our silver treasure
ship rings near…..
I hear the blue song of Destiny’s bird….
