Tuesday, November 10, 2009


Two Crows for Joy

[I had dreams (asleep and awake)]
the clock stopped
but time spun round, passed me,
cut, with it's hands, the sweet desire into bareness,
fleeting chances, vanishing beach,
and shadows that killed faith,

our parrallel regions of dreams

I am vanishing
yet searching. . .
Two Crows for Joy ::
. . . and flight down the road south

small sustaining elements...

enter the insides of the camera to see steel,
Bitterweed thriving in cracks of dry asphalt,
I-beams and trash,
another daily quest for The Real
within the virtual, numbers and 
a word, an out-of-place enigma 
and images melding with
a message only you understand...
and how much you needed that.

Give My Poor Heart Rest

and someday I'll paint my pain's release
as lilacs and blue hydrangeas, a crescent
moon in August or November
over Front Beach breezes humming
through Live Oaks. . .
such solid reality can be sealed in
repetitive motion, sacred scents, memories,
and the chorused songs of seabirds floating.


You were the blunt trauma against me
and wrought with
whatever you were dealt, You
thrusted it all upon me... me,
the precariously delicate spirit,
. . .
where were you and what were you
when I was locked in that black hole?

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