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light strips its full cloak
now shimmering with
stars like sparkle dust
this dying dusk
the pale veil
riding high against
the hip of tender night

last before the naked
stars burn glistening
like sweat on skin
sweetened by summer
dream time transmission
while the wind delves
with her whispers of power

unlike winters golden
set the slash of cold
the chillings burn

lay shivering
dazzled by your thoughts
the auburn aura
and flame blue eyes

and a freight calls out
and pulls a dream
of nickle tracks
through white

Editing stage: 


"transmission decay" poem about falling asleep
in a room in a cold city
thinking about summers passion
the long draw of sunset to night
how the signal of alert thoughts bleed to
dreams how prompts of nights routine
pull us into the nether realms

the muses too (especially the special)

author comment

i don't normally like it when a poet explains
their work, as i like that it can be open to interpretation...
can mean whatever the reader deems it to mean

however, in this case, the author's comments
add to the potency of this write and allow a deeper appreciation

several lines in this give me some serious envy issues

"the pale veil
riding high against
the hip of tender night" ...

your descriptives are completely unique,
and so compelling

there is such beauty in this write

i've read this a number of times now,
and am struck each time by the power of your
words ... by your structure and line breaks ...

basically ... by everything

i know i haven't read your brilliance for quite
a while, but honestly e, i think this is
one of your best writes

FANTABULOUS last stanza
(don't know why, but i'd invert "white smooth")

i bow yet again


fuck and love
how I want it
small portions
that I starve on

smooth and white
white and smooth

I agree
lifes a bitch sometimes
and I sleep with her
again and again
waking in drenched in
her dreams
the hours stalled
and falling

and all the stars are crying
in the haunted mirror
I stare and stare
and see you babe
and feeling
the heart song
out there
in the
there out landscapes
of tortured soul
shimmering like the lights of the
city in the distance

author comment

fairytales blame it on them
formal introduction to language use
their descriptors would describe the
settings and storylines as thus

"And Pleiades waited for the kin
of wolves outside the gates in winters
glare her furs were smooth
her furs were white.."

Ive stripped it down and dropped
the secondary repetition
from the statement to not drag
the whole length into several

hoping that the abstract will construct
itself in the readers mind
maybe Im reaching at times

but I may just come here and switch
it for you Just to make you happy
Im that fickle

(for you)

Mr Wolf

author comment

had to come back and read this

you are a poet


This poem ranks among your best. As for reaching; I found this poem to be less surreal then some of your more abstract works. Though some of the imagery uses less than original forms to blend the complete metaphorical images. Those completed images, and there flow into a coherently structured form, are completely and uniquely yours Stephen.
As is common of your poetry you express through your keen observant power of nature your inner journey, through the blend of conscious, and subconscious experience that is challenging; and more importantly, universally relevant to the reader. Your romanticism and erotic imagery is the perfect vehicle to transport the deeper issues you convey of alienation, and an approaching mortality. Though some of your work is fragmented and less than completely coherent as a whole. This poem is sublime as an integrated piece.


'''''i don't normally like it when a poet explains
their work, as i like that it can be open to interpretation...
can mean whatever the reader deems it to mean......''''''......someones views...

Your summation of your poetry
adds salt to injury ...
I feel the reader should be left
to scratch whatever he may ,
in order to decipher
what the poet had in his mind.

Perhaps a dozen if not more views
would emanate and define a poet
such as you are,
ordained by the worst critique
as the best


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