Still Ghosts

                  I

skies forever are to have had

blues too endless in reflections;

the yes of eyes in the world made new

                 II

in hush forsaken country roads 

left lonely forgotten lamp posts dimming;

a stillness 

known in light cast against forever seeming shadows

                 III

on the foots of approaching sun rise dancing

waltz illumination - subliming;

now

where still ghosts lay within

within begin to move again.

Fall from Grace?
not i for thee or we
for fall forfogs forever beginningness
and beginningness is ever endlessness
and endlessnessbeginningness
is never to know to never
moving so my time
down desert streets
beneath black crowned horned
crumbling kapital king

skylines

march u&i forevernesses
the grace which from we do
not never fall
above in blue lavenders
violet petals stretching
to fill the expanding forever palm of the soul
to know of which
the grace never can one fall

A Kold Day In Amerikahs

In their faces I hear
the shrieks of a rusted wind
those who fill the wandering space.

Across eyes hollowed stumble
crumbled front page paper orphans
tripping down lonely puddle alleyways.

It is a kold day in Amerikahs
where trash flowing without end
embraces legs and feet
down streets of
faceless faces in wandering waves
moving this way and that.

The sky gray day paints the walls
of the sky scraper synagogues
from which a million menacing vortex eyes peer.

Below the waves crash down upon eachother
the tide folding in upon itself
smothering and suffocating the hollow faces-
the sun setting while they feebly grasp and lapse as the day falls in upon them.

It is a kold day in Amerikahs
stumbling sounds down
where rusted trash tumbleweed alleyways
meet the violent and lonely streetshores I see
the crumbling
wondering
wandering
face of Amerikahs.