talk to me: notebook page 3

discharged, slim narrow blue
white the revelation is electric
there, in the swallow still lingers
illness, and paper work and
long hours chanting out
childhood until it is vespers
the Lords Prayer, a hand
washing a hand, and the clean
dry winter that comes crisp fresh
and never ending, I breath deep
and feel each crystal forming
the solidity of health
in the caverns that once housed
ghosts, art, feeling- the power of
need and the hand extended,
the haunted mind reaching.

there were duck- then none.

the snow
belts against my face
a pleasure unrackable
standing east, that
is knowing where i am or
where i am going-
i feel maybe- ok
about the prospect of
being lost,
the weather
agrees
and becomes
colder, lonesome cars
dwindle until only
tow trucks, plows and
ATVs wheel the street, me
and a dog or
alone, the stars only
speaking any easy
english, vipers- holy
twist around me,
and i handle them
the past
wells up like strychnine
and each drop kisses
a open new eternity
in the crisp supernatural
evening, my jaw begins to
numb, to freeze,
and i call out
in mumbled incoherent
ecstasies
for the return of
some thing, my frozen
hands can't seize.

8 o'clock dandelion tea

there are two stars which are
planets and the moon, and
the sky should be unbalanced,
but instead blinks
radical symmetry
i look up
from the dogs i am
walking, and
hear past the wind chimes
on the porch to the
church bells, evensong,
mans verse to man
and i switch these lights
so fast it is
this thinking; renamed
and under the influential
strobe, stone
moves left then right,
and grows hips, swaying
to the chimes and finally lips
to sing out all the bells
ever rung.