He mingles fingers, nails and hands
with dark, rich matter:

        - seeds that burst, and hurt, and grow
        push green heads through and into
        searing sun.

Mud. It gave up hope and slid
down here to fold up wood and iron.

        - limbs that break, and hurt, and slow,
        sink ever deeper down and into
        silent dark.

And he remembers moulding these same hands
to dark, rich matter.

        - flesh that yearns, and begs, and knows,
        draws aching being deep and into
        sweet forever thirst.

We drink our wine in garden green
and talk our words with laughter lined.
Held in heart a sadness lies
- it slows my laughs and weighs my smiles -
for what we have, and never will.
But here, today, I'm yours, you're mine.
We clink our plastic cups and drink
the painful red that binds us.

And what are we to do, my friend,
with all these silver word-webs?
I'd say it's up to you, but then,
we'd both know that's a lie.

And what are we to do, my friend,
with all these silver word-webs?
I'd say let's weave a shim'ring cloak
and wear it, just tonight.

We sing our songs with notes unplayed
and spin our sounds from thoughts unsaid.
Stood in past, our spirits touch
- they know the future bids them part -
for one brief moment, soon forgot.
But now, tonight, we laugh, we dance.
We clink our brimming glasses, drink
the bitter gold that soothes us.

I want to be out there
where dark green fingers
draw lines on wind-tossed,
rain-grey skies.

I want to be out there
where downy cloud tendrils
caress my cheeks
and clear my eyes.

Life will spill freely:
offered to air.
And I'll return empty,
replete, fulfilled.

Perhaps here on this lonely road
- going nowhere, to nowhere I've been -
this darkness will swallow me,
unheard, unseen.

It's beautiful
the stranger's touch
the feel of skin
'neath fingers, tongue
the taste of human being:

a tangled web
of laughter, love, of
tears that tapestry
the definition of
a now forgotten name.

A piece fo broken soul
- dislodged by yes-you-may
and tender touch -
searches in vain
for know-you doors
to darkened, unknown mindscape.

And finding none,
the soul retreats, draws
muscle, ribs,
and heart and blood
about itself to watch,
detached,
this game of raw desire.

A bearded angel passing by
said to my soul: "Are you all right?"
"We're fine," I heard my spirit say.
He nodded, winked, and walked away.

Let's pretend
not to see each other
through this curtain
of chaotic white

swirling down
in confused splendour
to grass and trees
where flakes alight

and blur the lines
with cold questions
asked outside
in blurred street light

while warm, untouched
through chilled window
I watch you brave
this cold night.

It's good, the grey beneath my feet,
the purring cars that hurry far
ahead as I keep striding.

It's great, the way my soaring heart
twirls high above in rain-dark skies
that tap-dance down around me.