From Ideas to Excellence
There is beaded silver rainwater outside my window. It is beat-beat-beating the brown painted peeling Weathered swollen pane. These mornings before the Beginnings of everything serve to dull the white Throb of settling sadness spreading up from parted Pistoning silences, born of dark failures of my dying Selves. The rainwater is sh-sh-sliding …
Here the widening Land gathered, jumbled, at its life's edge Swelling its softening summerscapes. Dry billowing winds Traipsed joyfully along a distant sinking horizon line in the West. Now seen from the bullying cloud-crowded sky, a tiny Trawling river traces its way, burrowing into and through its Red raw striated canyons, now riven, side …
Our books gathered us, called us each, Their curled joy-worn pages dancing With flickering orange yellow light at the Communal fire. "We are here." They knit Woolen tales of men, of women, of fierce Eternal battles, gods, the triumph of Old words, spells and incantations to salve Souls broken into these dangling dense Narratives. There on …
The maudlin curtained enclosed silence held Fast. There, across a gulf grown wide and Deep as a Gaelic moated shattered castle Rose great choking indifferent trunk-wide Weeds, fed forever by a drying thoughtcreek. Silken tiny shellshards, crushed mercilessly Underfoot - giant cracking deadened blows - Littered its expanse. Nothing …
An element of shade is its Color the silent cool of a Lengthening lightless all. An element of shade is its No-smell and no-form, Except, perhaps, in the old Breezes beneath formed Mammoth cracked trunks, Ancient from before a stolid, Lumbering s/he emerged From all imagination, built Of stars, sallying suns, dark Light from …
Remember when joy leaped across Sated skin after these weakened souls Discovered the other? You steered the Unanchored sails of a wrecked ship, on Tempest-turned seas, you were the Winded, worn love-house rising from a Blissful verdant shore. Angered waves, Pregnant with the power of a million million Silent suns, tumbled our …
She... ...gathered herself into the everything since before there was a thing to call time, shafts of blue-red light, carrying the motes on which my auburn love floats. She... ...was the ancient kiln built in a browned, weathered heart-home into which I fed the dreamstuff from which lives grow, the firstfallen fruits of Fate's first …
