Wednesday, June 16, 2010


In bile emptiness
I pray to the ages
that they'll rest herein
and restore these pages

from a sinking bed
yellow shrinking
behind shutters

I confess
with folded hands
over bleeding belly
and drift one in
the unrelenting,

when I forget
who I am
and who I trek with
when I forget
fumbling futures
like one ageless
if I'd stretch
retreating light.

The bleeding sore erosion
lifts me to embark
without limp legs
that'll never move
shock mellows then fades
into sonorous breath
of woodside roads
off to the numberless.

Fuzz of pined mountains
rolling horizons ...

. . .. . . .

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