And that was all.

Frost crept inside the mind
Of a desperate young man
Who craved some response
And over. And under. And moves
glorious whole-some-thing
Buck-like stag-startled
Deer-shot. Anything
But this numb-fear battle-ox.

For the buckeye the winds create less havoc.
The birds are lifted out of harm’s way.
Look, most of it will mend.

Whistle

Hush!

Listen to the whisperer

Who keeps a quiet vigil

Still loves you.

But the dog whistlers

Farm us into submission

alarm and raise our heckles

Til we crave our own blood

And weep with the taste of it.

Wolves we are in the whispering woods

Our guts quietly spilling

Through to the roots

We hear only the distant whistle

fear and crave its blood promise.

Earth’s fair

Dense is the cloud

The light’s  thrown off

And cold the sea

And rough.

Thrown into tracks

The frontwinds steer

The phoebes North

To South.

Caught up in net

The warbler lies

Like death in stitch

And throttle.

The ships on glass

Pass through the yard

The word less strum

And battle.

Greeting 

Tears are offered here

This place, our sacred stage

Where I give my name,identity

You offer yours in surprise aside

Our business, our status, what forces at play?

This prologue, these tragedies, these years brought forth

To day, this still gathering of mourners

Cry, greet, keep your lines and destiny

’til you are so familiar with them, and this strange other,

You cannot speak nor see him as anything but your brother.

With you, wherever

You say you’re here, with me

Wherever. You say what time?

I say, whenever. You say,

You need to know for sure.

I say, whatever, whatever.

In parenthesis

You were (here, I should explain myself) always there,

Like a familiar song (there’s something almost on the tip of my tongue) that offers connection.

Context (this soft light is on us) is, of course, essential. 

How can we begin (if we’re both listening)?

What can be said (with the desire to impress the other) that hasn’t been said before? 

This (never mind the emptiness where depth offers possibility) place where familiarity dies (my vanity, ego, delirium) is loneliness.

Ego

I was told to leave it outside

It was bound to get in the way.

I used to think that would be nice,

But dream on. It’s here to stay.

Now I realize it’s essential,

You mustn’t nurse it.

That overblown balloon.  Burst it.
Let it float up to the corner of the room.

A drone.  And be the first to pop

Your own.