Shallow Bays Walk Behind

Doth seven trees a copse make?

I.

 

Trees swift and sway about without my help,

And alas. Fortnight ‘pon fortnight,

I near not glance.

(Beings never do)

Doth the wind fault on me?

Remorselessly so-

In a field of antiquity in rows-

That pales beneath a stroke of time.

As we both now,

(You and I)

whirl,

backwards.

 

II.

And when Autumn breaks its final fall

Doth these trees savor thine call?

-Catch me now -When I sing-

-To reflect these small mirror’d things

That in the sky show their beaut

As deaf becomes the player’s lute

(I glance now at you,

With songs stuck inside your hair.)

 

III.

 

And now I rest,

For some time.

Before the trench,

Fills it’s vines,

With myself.

‘Pon it’s knees,

Before we find,

A sanctity,

For your love,

and your hate,

That climbs above,

And hits stars straight.

As we flutter with them

(You and I)

To hear Kingdom come

As they swerve you nigh.

Arrant my Solemn Grace

Lea’e me be in endless space

Endowed by this cage

A circumference

That holds me from you

The pedestal o’ my bosom

Holds true the words that sly

Lacking o’ a form

Wondering if it is able

The Broken Words

That lay upon –

This cold cement.

Lashing dusk,

A cold wind starts,

Howling like the wolves,

Hungry.

Waiting for you.

Doubly So-

Rings this vain.

Hearts are inside-

This nettled Crane.

Penning down,

our insane.

Drifting off the backseat o’ a bunker,

Dupe your busting woes to the ones that carelessly.

Intrude upon this space.

Like an endless looping-

o’ all the words that freeborn.

This pragmatic speech,

Outlining the course that woes.

Like the Words

The tree that traps,

Cannot be unbroken.

For such a life is bound,

By the chain I give myself.

When the typewriter goes to sleep.