trinket wound
this mortar blood that binds
a pretty mind
has spooled like ravenous silk
across the realm of dream

Broccare
awaken quick

there are fast wolves upon
the gate
and flames that gutter
shivering in their state

Narcotic wretch
hanging to limbs of treason
coughing black desire
while lurid stars
gape at the naked brazen
limits

Constraints, constraints
please don't my
ANONYMITY rein
kindly refrain
poetic lure is my domain
since eons
I'm not a poet
of what many think,
one of overnight
but still I'm learning
how to relish praise
and
abuse alike
let the venomous ones strike ..
Thanks I like your refrain
for many Neopoets
perhaps maybe disdain

And their death came to them on horseback
After echoes of Halloween horrors
Roamed through their haunted village
Screeching like a witch aboard a broom
Jetting through their eerie nights
Sprinkling dread melancholy on their wretched souls

Call them corridors or halls
those spaces linking here to there.
Polished floors and bright glazed walls
which lead us to that next somewhere.

And the doors along each side
which one to open, which to be passed?
Once opened up and we're inside
they all become, in sum, our past.

Some of them we walk alone
others in a jostling crowd;
some are quiet as a long dead phone,
others are often really loud.

you get to know the neighborhood
bums
recognize their palms,
the misfits of the street in their
divestment of the American dream
holding tight to the graffiti of hollow men
and their wild wild west empires,
bullets in their pockets and weapons for sale
in always-shallow hearts;

you might blame the corporation elite,
its stock
and shareholders
for having their own way,
or the politicians bought and sold on the
auction block,
slaves,
rendering to Caesar his image

A rock, bound to a leaf
The wing to free the moment
Flutters green or autumn crimson
on the rich tended soil
within the forest of the "aaaahhhhh"
The holy garden sanctuary
I feel your feet tread
The focus of your creative mind
Weaving it’s wonderful magic in your space
Making more beauty
Beauty forms the feathers of the freedom that is peace
Peace, no matter what the circumstance
Settle in the moment,
the present,
the gift of the rock and the leaf and the silver fox
in the holy garden

woe the great hide rises
while the great one dies

day of another

awake sweet fascination
shake the shackle of this slumber
let the crown of constellations
ride upon your mantled head
tiara of mystery
princess of darkness

let thy breath decree excess
of surly want and lick the lips
of tender lust
the blood fast
the smouldering ruin of
bridges
archs of cascade
the fire drips
like hot life

oh how we delve this hot
famine in succulent
prurience

Just a shiny little apple, still growing up
But that shine you see in the pictures
Isn’t really there
I just reflect it off back to you
And maybe it’s what I was
But I’m far from you now
I’m far from the tree.

Maybe we are the same
Could you live without your stereo?
Did you live for Pinwheels
and holding someone’s hand?
Did you sing?
Were you angry?
Was it me?
But now I’m far from you
Now I’m far from the tree.

Mind
is used up or consumed
ere the
Body
is buried or exhumed
and the
Soul
is invisible
as much as are
I and you...
Period.

The Clock Master. Set 1.

Don’t wind me up anymore he raged
at the key of sleep, I’ll stop your heart,
take your hands off without so much
as a peep.
The key ignored his screaming
round face, continuing to turn even tighter
at a more pertest pace.