back down the street,

on the corner of defeat

there was a moment

of retreat,

and all the while someone

died

shadows from a broken street light

never shone

onto the scene

with mean feet

echoing

all the time,

criss-crossing motion,

in a background of

snowless winters -

begin -

woman lying naked to my lips

as i roam in long sips

of her lying with me -

(does time own a moon caught

sea - who needs to try & be)

end

sandstorm summer in sweat

rolling across my breast

onto hers -

is she tired, from what couldn't

be -

need all moments

eventually - lead,

back into the

shadowless corners

of a back-street.

- jude

untitled

do i feel water

breaking - somewhere

deep inside me -

is the child looking

for room to cry

- jude

i feel lost in a rain

of colors - my fingers

can't find -

lines of feel,

cross my making of real

into corners,

i could break - onto

concrete forsaking me

as a child without a tree-

;

someone drives a need

with knives across my

naked chest -

i yearn to bleed for death,

while i yearn

for the seed of touch

somewhere within,

who needs to belong

somewhere within -

who wants to run and hide

who wants to stand outside

naming himself with a woman

; for the never of an any woman -

i turn to someone there,

and ask for sand -

and ask for sand

feeling to break -

but - who needs

to take, from the

whole of my strength

or who on when

i am not alone

or am i,

- jude

if she lost a dream,

she never quite dreams -

to rise - the folds

of a woman on the edge

of a scream

deems who more or less -

if she never takes the time

to know

exchange a piece of earth for

your child's piece in sky -

beyond an eroded try.

and what doesn't she feel

to believe in what she feels

with a trace of real diluted

by long chains of words

prophesizing now into

fact -

escape which relates to the

fate of forever here - running

woman with plates on her fingers -

old meals lingering

and lips remembered

with framed stolen embrace

into sips of herself

wanting more - with less of herself -

slow down - quiet into the sand

never seen

just below her skin - vibrates

the fear of moments who begin -

eternally beginning

skip across the water

skip across the water

who flows -

hair is cut for growth on a

woman

reaching -

but where is the

scream -

just beyond,

on the edge of a woman's stare.

- jude

here upon a rock within

the sea -

sits an only person

only me -

staring far into a horizon

of, misted-sun-held-red

held upon a scene -

naked within the water

so easily smiles her body -

with no inch yearning for more

across a roll in rage of feel -

something real

upon the sheets of my fingers -

lingering upon the feel

of flesh and more

; woman leans almost

closer -

and with i - breaks to a moment

who hangs

time- suspension-near,

in voices not quite clear

stays in loving

while they close the movement away -

silly man reacts in play

of his own cross-down

needs

or with a moment of lost greed -

commands a sway

forcing her to turn -

but her fingers away -

tears fly

or unspoken

yet - no one dies -

the skies are eternal in free

just across illusion,

for the something more

is touch

of such, that letters

might die on the floor

;without words losing their hold upon the door...

in the ache of my pain

she dares on my freedom

to remain - touch beyond stain

- jude

 

 

 

and water never remains

but for the crevice

eternal - , within the sand

i don't command upon

the any waves of wind

in its ever sky turn

while fingertips burn

in the fever

of touch here

as forsaken

i lie my head over the edge

of a mountain's fall -

hair manly - long

in call,

with moments, who are tall,

stall all, all moments

being and past

for all does last,

short in song -

as - long within one's

solidity torn against, nothingness -

the abyss motions

rocks held,

aside -

as a tide empty

of water

receding back upon itself,

riding water as sky -

exceptions in try,

motion -

is fingers - easy upon

rocks in water fashion

leaning tight into now

somehow

but known

for the freedom

to dream ones hair

across mountains

beyond - for air

for the black reaches

of out-time

in free space -

as freedom, for the trace of touch

- jude

in living you -

woman, i close you away -

i burn down your

life

in my leans on the

demands of freedom

; as is my love,

which tears you into

disbelief -

we are a seed

of touch in real

below the lines of

our fingers

your belief - but allows

the light of our touch

- jude

deeper in blue, crossing in light

dance of rhyme in the character

of our reflection -

a woman and i

and the mode of this color is life -

love lies wind blown across the

sand of our bodies

in their touch

for such who we are

and always more on the

edge of our reaching -

do you hear the ever color

in living-light-blue-

on it’s turn

forever in you - across our

open moments of now

there are no questions for love

in the bend of willows -

there is only ground - and

the sound of wind -

as do i hear the hand of your

breath - eternal beneath

the skin of my breast

so know i

turn deep and quiet -

towards you

towards i -

as also lie

my fingers -

woman is the rain of life

within my -

break into now

with now tying time

across forever-

somewhere eternal

meeting -

with all reflections - nailed to the cross

of love -

centered on nowhere street...

- jude

who doesn't wake in the

morning, so close

next to me -

what distance do i note

in her breathing

long dreams - between the

seems of where our touch

stained in streaks of blood,

and her fear-need,

to heed rhyme

sometime alone

and i leave her there

sleeping -

simply for,

she doesn't wake -

but take my fingers round

for, they

never leave

on a shelf by the side

as still of her flesh - somewhere

inside,

waiting walks

on crosses of long thorn

stems

whose flowers eternally

fall to the wind -

always

and waiting to begin

again,

on this - an ocean’s sand

with all reaches leaning on

the solid-dreams-of-yearning

in the burn of now,

with a turn -

weighing nowhere

or somehow

morning, below illusion

takes me

into her arms

of where might they

know me -

and waiting need ask, no one

to die...

- jude

 

 

 

the night is,

a warmth of her hand

leaning through my skin

touch -

she reaches me

through i,

cornering time between

us -

we turn through - to

one another

finding our footprints

suddenly -

wet statues of movement,

in black sand-free

man's cross in eternity -

all reflections are moments

of we

; and we remain, solid-or-real

within the erratic tearing rain

of time -

- jude

a black-knight,

rides in full charge

hard with push

in direct determination,

his face leading

into the arc of time

which leans into my now

and somehow - silence

speaks it’s ever whispers

in sight words

of an impending passing

of nows,

or a clash of;

life , death

demanding -

what barbarian rides

beneath the mask of

black-nobility,

and all the dreams of stolen

want -

yet to come!

and stealing by,

with her back against the

wall of herself -

in reflection;

of her face leaning into

the eternal winds of freedom

so stands a woman on

the edge,

of more

and less -

strange - game for an

errant knight's

self-proclaimed

quest -

but what is owned

and what is free -

fingers at living rest

hard into the side of me -

with dreams - venturing never

too far - into the realm of

birth raying movement

through an only real-

with the feel of love - a woman,

moves - barely above herself

past an open field battle

left without,

an end

how far can she

bend

without, her beginning in i

passing back into the before of

an end -

yes, we're sending

a love story,

on the quest to be -

while being,

while;

black is the knight of

time crashing time -

on the demands of nowhere street,

an only retreat,

into

real -

birth holds, for the passing of the

sword of death -

riding ever steadily forward

called - and so not to be

for,

death is birth,

mirth is the edge of

freedom -

but freedom,

demands a hermit's,

consideration for

time in place

a love story reaches for

a poet’s page -

for its own

reflection in eternity -

and;

the war- between

singular,

and plural

inches towards the stage -

- jude

red sea - with water tight,

fades back , behind the

void-intensity of black eyes

till no one

anymore

shall try

but to see a reflection of

strength -

where

all these simple humans

must die -

leaving me alone again

- jude

black dream,

sky scream

but what do you mean,

of what do you mean

when a woman takes her

hand in mine -

and then turns away

to stay!

as a play turns

so,

circles yearn

and windows

all windows burn

butter newly churned

goes sour -

in the corner of

a room

while behind the mirror

milk remains fresh -

always seeping from open breasts

and all the rest

holds to the sides,

and - between

sweat on my fingertips,

dry up in an illusionary cold

of an enclosed room

while a sun burns down

just beyond walls -

my moment is tall

for a woman calls

in love -

but; always on the edge

of a fall -

stalling in mid-air -

breathes eternity in full care

but for here or there,

or - both

black dreams are but

tight seems tying

colors ever sharp

close to themselves -

between the void,

and

movement...

- jude

 

 

 

i want not to

see you go - woman

you are sewn into

my life -

distinctive in your whole

print upon my soul

of movement;

i know good-byes,

yet for the tries of your living

and a voice demanding you away

if your child is to lie on the cross

of living death

what could - i say

i love you

would want you to stay

if you could

but hold no way closed -

for all you mean

you own a door into nowhere street

into i

say good-bye, if you must

but all the same

in love and stain

refrain between rain,

know -

these are but words

of illusion on the edge

of your child's need?

the seeds of our touch

have sewn through earth

into birth

in eternity -

and though we might come

to be losers in time,

there is no loss to

the find, that we

are -

that you are

the woman of my fingers -

with any need,

you do, and shall

own any call . . .

- jude

hard pain,

in a harder rain -

illusion thinks to stain

milk spills from

a glass

blood red -

nothing is said from a

woman lying late through

the morning, in bed

and a hand from a man

holds clenched onto a window

half open -

a morning breeze of dew

breaks the reflection

into something new -

broken-arm lovers

remember each other

for a moment

once

and still - again

when time breaks just right,

one lies in the other’s sight

yearning for nothing -

until

black-gold,

needs - match those

hidden greed

of children - as seeds of circled

death

spark their eternal return

into the stretching souls

of any man -

dance if you can

and a little harder

touch me long

but keep the silence warm,

let us leave that

candle, no reflection

into our shadows as they

over-lap

in lust of bodies & love

man shoves woman away

to bring her close

and close -

she breaks away

both beyond the edge

of a black god's abyss

into sleep -

carried on a circled bed

by separate dreams

in a shared repose

of the return

of

that -

morning breeze of dew -

(or simply something

to do - till a child

dies)

crossing the illusion of tries!

- jude

a young woman,

crossed a street - a long lonely street

one morning before she woke

shook her fist at all

the blatantly careless drivers

running ice tires in turning-wheel

form across her feet

but couldn't retreat

she was facing either

as every way - centered

in a stay of eternal?

surrounded movement -

eyes closed as mouth in sleep

so deep - that she dreams alone

a strain of pain from somewhere

remains upon her eyes -

tries are breaking or taking

how much -

such before a tomorrow - where

who but i - could or would

ever see

death across victory -

from sea to shining sea -

rise all the questions of reality,

more then rock expressed

the moon has confessed

will she wake alone

and looking for me -

forgetting i lie next to she

whether in presence or distance,

off white castles -

aloft on the clouds of her

eyes - child-dream-realities

inhabit the reaches of her soul

so long- in never-reach

how far beyond, does she

try to remain here -

- - - still waiting before her steps

with a question of death across victory

- jude

dark face, on a trace of

signs, ice crack trace

braces someplace

across the between

always, what do you mean -

someone asks

for the moments never seen

too lost,

and too often, as we turn to

another -

does the reflection of our sights return

but - offer a strained picture

of one’s self, caricatured -

time rambles, never holds

or so the locked faces

dare to easily to believe -

illusion so easily - isn't

as really it is

dressed fine - embraced within

her shadow

she moves

through quiet places -

with all the living traces,

never to be seen

fear across between,

do you see what i mean -

try watching a before reflection.

clean

- jude

 

 

 

you hold a black trace

of voided concrete held in place,

with the case

of your body

hiding or building

whose face -

black dreams can't be

distinguished from the long

faces of a city's night -

belief is but in street-lights

who extinguish themselves

before morning and days born

all across the screams of trying,

of dying

torn into - all the child's

release

of

who dares wallow in a self

described belief -

trees who but bend before

the wind are telephone poles

built to ignore - their death

waiting in long silence

behind the ownership of

a human animal in need -

man cries where even

he might not see

for the woman who

couldn't please

concrete packed with dirt

is the shirt they offer him to

wear -

torn is everything worn

or the freedom of a void -

yet somewhere in the shadow

of a back-street -

who spends a moment,

and not in retreat -

there is no question of defeat

but the question

of a moment told

a woman he held,

against the void

but morning finds all back-streets

empty?

- jude

across this bed from me

as all in an ever dream,

like love through a free fingered magazine,

does lie this woman

warm in me -

it is time to rise and go

amber in sunrise slow

another day that shall see

long in eternal

carrying this woman with me

dew dreams on her pillows side

holds her to

the strings of sleep

tipping her tomorrow

onto the edge of today -

saying quietly, that i love her

how

that i love her.

- jude

 

 

 

who might dance in the rainfall of

dusk -

carrying fingerprints in a side pocket

growing small,

whispering tales to oneself

of times long lost

or not so long ago

but lost all the same

and names the present - but

into the confines of a game

on a board whose spin

is a circle -

if it all is the same

shall i demand more

crossing the floor, one touches

no one -

meets a mirror - just to lose

a reflection -

reverse direction and repeat

the same -

"but name is the name of the game"

;cries the silent fall of rain.

- jude

how long am i really

from tomorrow

living on the crest of it’s echoes

onto where - rhyme,

someone sees a rock,

smiles as he walks by

but speaks not a word -

notices a passing bird in flower full

flight -

sights nothing as the way along his

dirt path with concrete dreams

continues,

someone sees in a dream

motion,

dives into a crossing of light

and reaches through the sky

reasoning reaches no why

just tries - give the dream

to a somewhere solidity

a man slowly starves, those

to whom he pledged himself,

while he plays

hide and seek

with, the soft realm of

a dream's reach

who would dare to teach us

of more

then; god, or rock

maybe just somewhere between

can something mean more then

a moment,

maybe i could cry

with the wind,

see my reflection

through a star - space ridden

of another's eyes -

maybe or die -

i reason time against myself,

for i name it illusion and use

it real - ignoring it’s fingers

for mine - in a timing feel

glass against glass mirrors what

or; what mirrors glass

in the last of beginnings -

ending never too

soon, just before

the circle completes

to complete itself

into the thought-seen,

originating somewhere

or just continuing with

all gaps

as mere realities in a lines

solid

in a lines

movement -

living on the crest of tomorrow's

into where-rhyme,

- jude

the dream is soft

and love made a cross

of long breaths -

deep into her naked breasts -

warm nights

sweat delights for the sight of

a moment past flesh

off-where unseen -

little woman what do you mean

in pace with a place -

reflections as a trace,

you call silently for needs

break open for greed -

offset for a hidden stage -

afraid of little people - dancing

as pan, rhythm as fast,

as fast as you can / illusion in the

division of sight,

nothing is wrong, when

as the play holds wind before motion -

rotation - do you believe;

in your own screams -

paint it black - offered the sack

away you turn -

and maybe -

love yearns

but for where -

man,

or love itself - ,or

deluded by solidity - when shall

you run

or simply turn

and swim a while

for the crest of

a smile deep -

time seeps -

owned - (silence)

it feels all right -

;or what more!

- jude

and what really

ever,

decides the man to dream always

so much farther then;

any space -

any dream might hold,

how cold is it,

lying deep within the

flesh of a social mold -

and how stark naked

can you never feel

face to face with another of your

own race?

what is this trace who leads you

to an eternal division of sight,

what gives the strength to your

controlled screams whose reach

seems often to touch

beyond the so-called;

laws of rocks -

tied up in the locks of freedom

and movement

- jude