Updated: Nov 25, 2020
I emerged from my door
and carried into my present
moment the quivering skeleton
of a whom this poem is for,
a what is trying to be accomplished.
We are the escape artists.
We point the way out.
We paint the way out with words,
words that could only
lead to freedom,
words that cannot
save themselves.
We who sit bandy-legged and
wonder it means, bandy-legged.
We waterways,
undertumble gold borne
freshwater ready or not
just follow me.
He moved across the forest They moved across the forest It moved across the forest moved across the forest elephantly. across the forest under the autumn star the azure trees the fruit of rippling way
that beauty shadows on the grass moon; hand; dance come alive, remember you, remembered reborn, we cannot sleep dreams have no answer but deep, close to the heart they say be seen, dream with one anot
The sun someday will be love again. The mountain someday will be sand. The land in the end will begin again, and flowers grow out of its hand. I remembered an ancient poem, held under the tongue of a