alone on a rippling pond

stand straight,

maybe a little tall

and break open a

small smile

watching it all fall


itís a question of refrain

sitting deep too,

back into the back of an


chair , losing my eyes

into a lost stare,

daring to compare


afraid of tomorrow and

all the time laughing at

the illusion ,

nothing is to say

in all I do

across a wasting time

squeezed all to fine

i rage / i stand still.

so small a smile,

with nowhere to sigh

i cross myself

no longer with whys


i wash my hands in the blood

of a woman,

kneeling between an

open grave

soaked dry before

naked her feet


time between wind

i learn alone in a rippling pond

coloring from my reflection

and alone!




strings of crystal ice

just somewhere

simply across an open street,

my eyes shadowed into

black are tired

on the edge of

wind bent upon rage

a drop of liquid

falls upon the etched tips of

my finger

a mirror for

it all

i whisper quietly to myself

of stories who linger

down an alley across that street.

itís late

in sand scarred upon

a closed glass window

as rain running dance down

a moving train

where are all the questions who

can no longer feel

stone in the road,

where are my tears who edge

upon all my fears

which who they be,

never quite there

i stare further then

my eyes

i hold silently

ever quiet,

onto the

all the strings of

crystallized ice,

in white tries

edging tomorrow /

and simply me!




for the reach , they paint

feel into your aloneness

little the images of

fear who cross you

onto the face of illusion

do not name her

shadow before,

her black in blue

eyes reach onto the

scarlet strings of your soul

i stand, worn tight against

a coat

amid a drift of wind in

the opening of winter across

naked knees

in trees, never quite tired

enough to break

into those continuing gusts of



no tears wrest themselves

from my eyes

where, just maybe

should there be,

quiet knowing something

bordering all the rest

and i cry movement

into aloneness

of my nights

easy are the burns,

the blinding light of my own eyes

, naked i climb

on the edge of rocks

i watch water as it

wades through sand


i bend onto the colors

born of my fingertips

for the paintings they sketch

, for the reach

they point .




and what is sad

i seem too easily to

roam in anywhere,

somewhere holds illusion

an illusive quality

and whys, in part

are all the same,

her name,

so sweet in the love

i held within

;all the pain

who holds within good-byes

drift , i drift

i sift through time

and again


but for when .

cry the river,

she sang

a child loves a man

and where do we go

ancient belief

recede in sand,

no command ever lingers


and what is sad

and what is sad




i smile

i smile

and i cry

and i find that

extremely weird

for itís all too

close - spoken

under the same breath.




a matrix of rhythm

where passion lies

huddled - alone on a stone floor,


how easily does she

forget the full

of her nakedness

as water , as water kisses

sweetly in its motion

yesterday lies

forceful in wet rhyme

between her mirror ,

and the wide motion of

her legs

while always comparing

in what she might feel

frozen erect, where

leans from edging her

breasts hard

and forgotten warmth,

craving still

what fill has ever touched

liquid across the breath

of her thighs

sighs long beyond


passive she wanders

illusive in the game,

of what remains

of who stained her


from her fingers drip

the virginal blood, of her

own , escaping


and those wedding sheets,

now lie a curtain

windowed between

she and/

winter snow,

iíve seen , how easily

she smiles

she sits where

quiet and music


where no question of defeat

ever begins

in silver thread

a cross marks deep within

her eyes

as they soften

a question of sunrise

and somewhere here,

she remembers the dance

a matrix of rhythm

wording through her soul



a scream within silence...




between all the many places


all the many places

hive i given to

own me through


time itching to come,


nowhere , echoing

between trees across

mountain rock


sand desert sand

voiceless demands

wind lights

less then sun

or more the lids

of my eyes weight to

stay. closed,

;a shadow focused

for only my why unknown,

naked without its

inherent light

a woman almost

or more

feather within stone

as a floor upon

for her eyes

never seen .

wordless for just

a moment


all the many places

moving slow on coming

moving on i

i moving on ,






does a woman, have to hide

whispering silence


the moments of quiet,

could she open from within

her eyes

just onto me,

for my moment i seem to be

where aloneness

is ever more then a

question of screams.

does she fear such as rape,

seemed on,

from so long ago

or; does a woman wish to cry

where fear reigns,

all across to complete

a lack of reason why

pieces of try

lie breaking within all those seams,


hold her solid

and all so well (?),

dwelling where scarlet

is illusive and blue

is a song ,

quietly a song

she turns towards a mirror,

as she turns away

behind closed eyes

who can,

and dares to see

does a woman

have to hide

just to be

and all so quietly ,





behind shadows - more fine!

once you cried

long and ever deep

down a tree shadowed

new york city street

felt illusive against concrete,

the voice of a child

and/the face of a woman ,

drifting painfully behind

tears fighting through

through where no one

might see on

that too quiet dark in night

for love and need ;

and need no longer

cry her face black

into the sky

man child , growing too


and how hard

do your tears , ever win

anymore still,

behind shadows - more fine

and unseen .

how much rain can

oneís eyes hold

without tears

and their (illusion of) freedom!


across distance and night

a weight of love and pain

follows distance and


into the views of my feel

faces and shadows,

almost more then real

leaving no stains upon my sheets

carving years and turning

behind my eyes

fingers off my soul,

lean - tunneled outward

between void and/ i ,



their faces, who dream

of tears to hold

theirs free

and alone,

i stand

so close - closer still ,

in fill or love

but without that water scream

; behind shadows - more fine,

but within that water dream

(stains upon my sheets

/touching the stains upon

my soul






black cold water

black cold water

affect all i feel;

too much, a burning snow

collects them into a distance,

drifting long death eyes

face to face

upon mine

a candle in light,

burns against empty air

too much left to care ,

and nowhere .

someone dies where,

i can barely say

and yesterday is a

worded or teared echo

of this any today

these too long empty

streets echo footsteps

from behind

and shadows are the only faces

who dare wander

closer to me

i try to feel

the moisture leaning hard

upon their faces

or mine

but something finds only

black cold water,

to the edge of my stand





simple black dirt earth


to whom,

or i

snow in thick white

watches me , and distance

marks time

a moving train and illusive


tears of which i canít cry,

cries death along quietly

the edge of my soul,

faces in a crowd,

who should be faceless

screams why so hating hard

onto me,

the tearing screams

of long nowhere woman

who draw blood from my eyes

someone dies unseen,

and all i

tired finds

till - simple black dirt earth

dreams behind my


too easily -





dark shadows

lying within the

palm of my soul Ė soft skin blows

autumn winds , warm

into my eyes -

dark shadows and/







for more then , for you...

i spend my life

reaching past the edge

of always more then



spend my life

reaching past the edge of ,

for the touching of you


on a soft autumn dream

and love -

for more then , for you...





time and quiet

time and quiet,

somewhere in the between

of trees melting after snow


a slow starving moment

for my woman,

to touch her thin open fingers

onto the inside of my


a war never finished

a battle almost won,

while there between

two pillars of

concrete housing

river runs

swift in water

passing feel onto my soul

long deep within

easy bamboo and sharp sun in


is breaking day


dusk - amber screams

and softness ,

i lie across

while whispers of sleep,

hold distance open

to my eyes

and years

unspoken fly by

as a face remembered

no longer scratches

memory from the

water rippling outward

within a small pond

time and quiet,

my woman lives strong


and alone in an ancient chair

i listen to the rhythm



across the pulse of motion

her liquid in breath

reaches easily

into i ,


the cross of distance




dark in slow

dark in slow

this morning where even , as a

sun rises tripping years

through clouds

time speaks of illusion,

twisted remains of ageless


name al the voiceless tears

of flesh and dried blood

my face is streaked with soot

spring early trees motion their

nakedness out toward

my closed palms

as tired legs walk an even slow

time to the water


across the edge

and, a concrete horizon

marks the sky

eyes, who have

cared too long

too long

turn in into

caring still the more

what door is marked


not opening

a sweet smell of spring

lasting to the inside of my chest

as her deep lips raged on a

moment long

an eternal night before

sweet blood dripping

in open drops from

such, the

cross of illusion -





walking only somewhere

dark in sometimes, woman

with long behind glassy eyes,

simple age coiled about by

a gold braided rage

all the time to white lace



autumn leans behind spring

where she sings never quite the blues

deep across black shadows

and formless night

and/ deep through me

a loverís smile meets me somewhere

below my lined flesh

i sleep below myself

and to touch in

as a woman is

am touched in

as a woman is

i wake , sleep still closed

upon my eyes

to find my fingers

reaching through

the illusion-wake of night air

touching into her thought

meeting warmth


as still i sleep

a tired woman,

upon a street

where black unmarked concrete

delivers open

the river - with all its

silent under-rage

walking only somewhere


walking somewhere close to me





of titan

for a dark city

and hollow streets

children growing old

living to hard

in all these concrete


and somewhere,

not feeling quite as a man

a force in feel

runs as blood pulsing

against my eyes

i walk , in long quiet steps

a continuing concrete

between silver fences and

death shadows of ,

in close across my feet

i am wordless, for a


speaking in seeking

out to

long turning arms

who relate

as my dreams catch shadows

before an open

black-deep sky

never intruding against why

sighs upon a

river turn - seen

distance close to

far away

a dream of eternity sketching

fine points of life

all through the rings of saturn

open in my eyes

all is color

free upon waiting

, a world of alone

spoken rhyme carved into a wind

who blows eternally

sketching out my hair

my fingers long , to move


the cross of my eyes



as sky

the soil of titan

in stain to the

skin which holds in my


a moment

a frozen tear shattering

against concrete

the smell of a river,

bending along its way

i speak

out, for the night

if no one more

a short water poem , carved onto the

limb of a tree

words between shadows


continue walking ,

against the scent of

a wind


between shadowed-trees

and concrete.





(N.Y.C. fine) a bridge to the queens, lies broken

there is,

a black hole in the sun

i see



waiting .

for almost a reason to die

or why,

i see

or why,

i see ,

watching subway Ė N.Y.C. rhyme

faces - faceless,

turn away,

to always along side a

grey morning,

and full sun day

just somewhere in my ear


a motion towards me

ice cream fingers

along a stagnant shore

where a river runs

still and what more

a bridge to queens

lies broken upon the floors

of an manhatten apartment.

i walk through crowds

noticing the every rhyme of

no one

and the sun

in a black hole

spotting the light

i see

and, i smile

but to myself






i suddenly, remember to be?

warm dusk air ,

wind alive inside slow

slowly permeating

a full sun day

lines mark the air,


in the rhyme of warmth

i drift, i hear

too easily

listening to the

long distant echoing of

almost places still in touch,

yet to be

watching a tree slow to green

still in partial nakedness

all mirrors upon the

palm of my hands

silent in self,

holding still between

yet to these unborn commands

as sand

carries wind

rhythm upon an untouched

in place?

whoes face

trace me a song

so far away


morning forgotten

a sleepless motion crosses my eyes

something too wise

stares at me from within

i remember back-streets

and, love upon concrete

a memory unfelt


till dusk meets upon

dusk and a river

rhyme speaks through



i stand

with motion in river water

across , upon me.

i suddenly, remember to be?

in drift


shadow a cross to be

i -


find and eternity

(remaining slowly

unseen ,

remaining slowly, )




a forgotten memory

a forgotten memory

wake sleep ,        morning to my silver eyes


while warm she lies

seeing , in feel full reign

across a breathing rise

her nakedness

something heard

touchless mouth from a

faceless smile

dawn, as a scar

low below my eyes

tries and whispers

i woke too fast

black in a mirrored

face as mine

within my eyes

i donít scream

i seem to be

something seemed to be

quiet as a winter tree

stands outside a,

my windows edge

quiet as a winter tree





dying, beneath my finger nails

where are,

those open streets

city parks filled with

singing feet fingers in

full rhyme play always

somewhere above concrete

defeat lies all to


in all the eyes of

passing strangers , ever stranger

i wander for;

that young child

who drifts in between freedom

and an eternity of private tears

wrapped alone

within a paint-aged

wooden bench,

for within day

wanders night

along or in song

too long

since a child


passed along my side

with all her dreams

astride, a wind find


tears for empty concrete

my finger writes wandering

poems across sand,

and into a wind i burn

my eyes

for all the fears pf rage

afraid of, the freedom of their

time open stage

i cry longer

for the yester-years of


dying beneath my finger nails

a million faces - to no avail...




so where does the river go!

filled by

against the walls of

voided rhyme

too often ,

lately these years

coming on

faces carved of stone

an artistís fright from within

and eyes staring past me,

seeing nothing black

upon the rise

what ancient little

men, linger

long behind shadows

ever deep shadows


i sit alone

wrapped warm in my

rage quiet stage

with a free wind

tearing upon

my fingertips

as eyes from


so do i reach!

still across the ages of my rhyme,



watching the drifting

turning pages

as faces

carved from more?

(what ancient scream or, dream)

deeper from within

in now, finds

my turns


and blows the wind slow

concrete leaning where bones

once grew

so where does the river go...


and i know,

for all the trees

who i wait to more

then see

where more then words

sew creation ,

for all the trees,


seem more and more

recently ,

to lie , but

fallen , broken

across my knees .



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