keening of the rain
in the brush outside
beyond the pain of light
on the drab thicket of tin
wrinkled in wear of a
millenium of sums
of suns

a best Robert Lious Stevenson
sprawl an that unwound down
drawl
the blues creep like ivy on
the crypts
kept moist by mourners
fears and hurricanes tears

coconut water and rum
cherry dipped cheroots
a nickel plaster in worn
out wine tips with fraying
laces

the glider squeaks like
the baptist organs lungs
before the first pure peal
of chords sent shrill and
reedy through its voice
the shinning sea of faces
glowing in estatic elation
an ocean of call to the
army in the humid heavens

bathing in lavender in
the tin tub
the lights at this hour
in the storms passage
glow dim like the lobby
of its reputable established
climes

draws the Sponge down
smooth legs
water dripping and
cresting frothing at
the break
Humming slow ballad
of Ms Holidays
the rain keeping
up its fast fat beat
while the wind waltz
enters through
the french doors
moths not drenched
dance too
the mesmerizing
allude of hypnotic
longing has me
drawn in

I focus on the
leaning spines
of books
wishing I knew
the full lyrics
to sing along
softly
the glider slow
like a clipper
feeling the
echo of the
shore in the
dark palette
of its welcome
sweet and
gentle

...