THE sky is a cup
in its clarity
in the chalice
the masterful alice

the muse ponderz
and the powder
wanders....

I have tasted the scripts
of tortuous
fortitude
wandered the garden alleys
alone

found the lost tiara's\
and had my harems

behold the textual gardens
of luxurious
lost
the minds end
past the shot out Dead End Sign

would I forgive the notions
the spells and the potions

not now

not in the print
of the wold
the wilds
the scent
of the forest
the exhaust of the
fire mended to the
wound
like ash and grit

it was
it will
be
the all of it...

for all I have forgotten
forsaken
and neglected

I am awoken
from the dream
the pale shaft of light
shifting
the flag in its
wimper of wind

I remember the muse
borne of summers
of heat and humidity

the sweet tithe of surrender
the emotional obscurity
the depths of its fury

far far from the
safety pledge
of the known edge

true sailing is dead

.....