for as love tries,

a child cries

dying still into a man

alone on a rock

cropping - mountain

time,

to pace against walls

and to roam edged by the

sky

wind, moon owned

someone sewn into himself

how hard in deep

steeply pitted against aching grass

hilled field set

before an open plain,

nothing remains

does nothing remain.

ancient stains on wetted

sheets no retreat

many faces in a

mirror - have seen

me no more

and still they stare

reflections bend on a cross of sin

as / man.

commands are forgotten

demands are returned

to birth

birth is born only

in the wind

till only

will the wind / metamorphose

into earth.

- jude

where holds the need

to play forth a scream.

one’s body

aches within itself

yearns to touch

,

fingertips upon my own

in feel

to belong

hard blue -old

years sound between

what is wrought in

yet-to-come,

to strum knowing upon

someone’s flesh - for a moment to mesh

and nothing more?

for to matter

seconds - in a retreat opened wide

to confide movement

into movement

seen - what dare do

i mean, edged along

a scream /

a dream unseen

or birth within an eye

too

alive inside the

flow of men

a woman unknown - as somehow

sewn into a reach i ever feel

a somewhere real in yet

odds into a frame of insanity,

rests nervous

waiting is movement - is a lost thought

of fear

though,

that i am clear - in all don’t i know

sewing with the wind

leaving but fingertips

owning any free,

between the scream and /

i ..

- jude

i’ve thought

or have wrought within

upon - to life on

death edged

in song - screams as pain

for where, none

dare - i know

belonging but as a name

and all the faces - live locked

in the games of man

that i am insane

or mutated in a

stranger’s form

though either, could easily remain

upon

the other

empty palms where love

more as touch upon, a

woman, more then a name

or, a moment

in the movement of

time

a reach for eternal visions

which lean the wind to the ground

sound in music

torn - from ever

deep

inside

places not meant to hide

places with nowhere to abide within,

but for wind mirrors

-

dreams torn

screams worn.

- jude

aloneness and the edge of it

to sit - legs crossed upon

themselves

visions of faces almost play

upon my mind - as the yearning

to find myself ever

where

that i stare long into a distance never seen

by all the many

people lost in ancient

dreams - as mirrors

in fall

what calls to me from the edge of my

sight - near to where lives a void

full in force remembering

who lies in wait, near -

children almost tall

play music soft tears live behind

fears - never yet

born - a woman lives

yet - torn from all,

from all the voices - silently building

within her

and who!

screams without a name -

isles of nowhere

tainted by delight

sighted for the changes

never called to a turn

to burn - just within,

simple swim as a river

sound turns forever by

clouded color is the sky

drifting - are moving forever

by

a feeling upon my shoulder

someone smiles as does she cry -

living - the strain of

names - so easily moving

by

isles of nowhere

listen as years

are the fleeting eyes

a woman sighs for the love and hate

she’s been taught

to relate or escape -

a feel upon my shoulder,

is she something real,

lost -

within these;

isles of nowhere.

- jude

 

 

as time moves on,

knowing her still

owning the distance,

and still

somewhere in the same

her name as a piece of

my soul

but there is nowhere

left to grab hold

onto

her return

and so i burn

in the turn

of time tainted blue

hard in the aloneness

hard in the loss

broken upon by a floating taste

of such is she

on of a woman who -lived

into me

long good-byes

eternal in the

tries of being

frozen tears

almost

still water lost behind

my eyes

- jude

winds blow unseen in movement

holding past time

rhyme lies never quite

still

black traces,

form in almost faces

you,

sometimes dream in

dare to believe in,

behind the lines

of sea-green

blue across finds

as she lies deep into me -

bend your words

till almost can’t they be

can maybe she see

in being more then

merely such on the edge

of flesh - meshing

past rest,

and a river breaks

through

rooted trees

blowing in as wind

across your knees

silent as seas across,

open space -

trace a finger down

and i’ve found

my prints lying

slow into hers

as her hair bends with

color for somewhere

reasons unseen -

i know upon tears

touched upon her face

and down

edging through turning leaves

sold on free,

she comes to me

owning silence

yet... never merely voids

in sun paint,

stains unstained, blood

the red

of time wed

onto only

rhyme

movement free

blowing wind

black traces,

form in almost faces;

you...

- jude

death worn,

from the living edges

of all the world

which holds it’s need

on a seeded fear

visions unseen

and all the million words

used to voided ends

as they demand deep into

me -

in the lies of empty tries,

all the too many

anythings,

offerings of death

onto me

/ a child in my soul

owning only a scream to be

to be, is free

,

as wind passing into someone’s

open eyes -

with silent tears

lying in the open

edge

of rock found

across a mountain,

turning sky – towards sky

reflections found and to

i,

somewhere deep inside

waiting in a living ride

of reach somewhere

past

lasting only in the

wind -

- jude

morning is

more then just a reason why,

you woke from

frozen trees bending

with the sands of wind,

you lie

across yourself alone

with the sea

and blue,

for the sky in free

only

to mirror just back

onto thee

where does but where

wait to be

or is

never simply on the

loss of concrete

full across the yet to be

in retreat,

a street sigh

lies just across the rain

where windows of night

stain back for eyes

,

sacked or tied

full in black

and what’s a name

or where

you stare - into air

living pictures,

almost seen and know

to feel

as touch

living the edge of wind.

- jude

cry to me alone,

and none other

known to hear - where yesterplace

screams, lie - too

soft below the

tips - of fingers - wandering

through

clouds - which stare too openly

back;

there is a lack, between a voice

drifting chained words through eternity

in place looking

to be -

and eyes stare long in a close hold

leaning too hard - not to seed,

held from age

upon a gifted stage

where lies wood too

easy -

her scream, is slow

as life it shows

in long dreams of

hair black

still falling simply - down

her back

what is left upon white never known

sewing patterns across the void,

hoping for a world

might you flow more heavily -

lost in / virginity to blue

; for something torn

something new

easy into water,

lies wind waiting before her eyes

?

the child is, woman known

reaching for mirrors

never / or ever

sewn.

- jude

a boulder fell

leaving it’s space untouched

a storm in it’s grounding rain

broke open moments,

and time was left with little

to say

and as she met me in the beginning

so,

light is wrought within sound -

her hand filled slow

with nowhere to go

her breath fell cool

on words of silence, with eyes

simply holding me

nothing simple is left to be,

carved names - were phrased

ever long - deep beyond the

skin of a tree

held bent - to the wind

torn in scream,

between concrete

on a face of walls

about us - i lean into she

as / i lean out

to lines untouched and beyond .

in void, i motion

birth - all nameless

these fleshless reasons

into many seasons turning autumn,

a bend in the sky

for she and i,

reasonless whys - ?

eternal tries

we turn slow into

another

to believe without mirrors

and /

light explodes in

into we - meeting we

eternal

movement is always - of beginnings

: or into

a continuum of now.

an ocean recedes

as the moon

lies lines into freedom

we touch upon

the waiting of our souls

we touch of beginnings

eternal in their

yet to be -

yerter-years cross into

the presence of tomorrows .

- jude

slow wonder

to never quite wake

from a silver threaded dream

who seams never,

complete - back to the

wandering now of your

fingers -

take a step from a stage

and the stage - remains

in the mists

of others - held in black

solo whispers / and scarlet

silences

just below your palms lying

hands deep within

wind sands -

only - almost - commands lie

day across earth,

children edged on freedom, no more

but the silence of yet,

wet in your screams

a universe bends

always

ever often unheard

in it’s hearing

but losing nothing,

milk upon - your lips

trips which never fall

but

in only - ? -

complete

implode out into the

wind

deep drifting wind

deep

from the drifting sins .

- jude

summer melts down

into - leaning

winter, shades in black

weighted to the edge

of your soul

somewhere to go,

climbing through trees

leaves wind torn are silent

words lost to the

whispers of dusk -

in mid-day

lies summer light

held to the unseeing mists

of night

somewhere you go,

tears but wet

a pocket upon my shirt

clean to a stage

ever unsung -

as;

life bends death

and / death

while distance still knows it’s movement

in song

still knows me

nowhere dreamer -

morning wakes you too warm,

with dreams awaking never quite

and my sweat never leaves her

side -

(and when someone dies!

but no time left to cry)

a walk on the mists

a spoken for time

breaking rhyme and free -

/

a woman, and

edging before the sea .

- jude

long time running,

long time slow - with somewhere

to be somewhere going

in frozen feel

what do we know

sight wandered through

tangled hair who owns your face

a steel train was once

given a name

all for a game never played

and there is something in those

scarlet tears, cried only in blue -

to scream between concrete

on patches of earth,

barely there - if you are

forever where

dare to die

in all the stale air -

pieces in glass, strewn across

a playing field

for a game in motion - what dare

who to feel -

a woman before her

name, touches her

body to love

a cross implanted to skin

/ lies a sin which is never

the same -

from her nakedness does her

blood run dry -

just to meet me in a place

between trees - above dying

leaves - who names wind to the

ground -

for fingers to name wind to the

wind...

- jude

quiet ride on a definite name

evening fabric

a wrap of dreams

just vaguely seen

a child alone

in a child not

or / who needs to believe

time to run

about the edges

of her walls

stalking naked - the seems of her

belief

so rarely in herself

she knows the voice of

more

and waits for time to choose

maybe - /

she -

she lies too close when the

covers are - in their image,

of ever more

to the stains of long white

sheets

does time own her seed

roaming too free

in the void - between her fingers

if love lingers waiting for a

name - eternity once ingested

is never the same

hiding behind a definite stance

a woman lays her freedom

into the fingers of

chance

the men upon her bed lie

too still - for a

woman on the edge of fill

sail the song of leaves

wind torn trees

suggest belief

heard her tears

where frozen steel holds to ice

blue is the form of

clouds

-helplessly hoping-

,she wanders on eyes held strong

inside for all the no ones

to whom they belong

and born waiting

always born waiting

owing ever more in her

trade for life

long scream - ever quiet scream.

in a dream on years

yester-year fears

only,

on she -

on waiting, the quiet run.

- jude

 

 

street on a scream,

as i sit between the hours of

life / or death - or quotes

of, rest

in concrete lies the imprint of sand

commands which linger

as against hollow walls

of someone trying for less

a simple ant crawls along,

peaking his day alone

on the plains of stone

mountains

lost - for the fountains of

his mate’s dreams

simply and dies in a circle of

light.

a child on the terms of a woman

draped upon white

i met in the

quietness of

a second

ever past - movement as voids

spoke hard her name

voiceless - demands in the

eternal echoes between

concrete -

as in once, always is she

gone

once seen.

do i know what i mean.

,

somewhere between concrete

is birth -

and what!

- jude

silk,

slow moon

a drop of light

drifting within / behind

a tree - space-free distance

, close

a moment’s sight

caught as i,

open

within, where

sands rarely echo

was birth only in me

but who lives,

on where - who dies,

the skies have

once but tried

a scream on the

mirrors of: never quite

brought always to the face of,

someone standing,

has died

ignoring my eyes

demanding but where

my poetry doesn’t live to

lie.

a piece of the sky

fell, into my fingertips

screams met

lost into freedom

and,

in the distance i own

someone cried,

always

someone cries,

-

tears of love /

or death...

- jude

a fracture of light

hearing across sight

water bends across the ease of

words, walking and between

a fall of time

lays aside - ever intricate

the hides of more

then animal flesh

to mesh just to only

within a bend

rape tied, to

scale concrete roads

naked with pores sipping

screams, all the way

ever

an everyway,

i sit a while

to stay

to bend

send out from the bend,

of myself

sweat drained

i lean

into - a self force

for birth-cry,

stained rain

never simple waters

fingertips as feet

open retreat

out into - what

names cross to

freedom or the wind

i swim for the water

i offer my fingers to the air

, for the bend of time

i see - on maybe

opened tight across my

chest,

screams in the wind...

- jude

drifting out

street-light shadow

slow rhyme sung

to the find,

to name such in

a woman - where

rise meets the wind

slow - time

owns a void

where time is but the

meeting of our fingers

sing sweet in

september - longing

for

autumn screams

a mellow raging line

easy eyes are black in their

soul touch

a collage wrap

a summer chill

off on a shadow street

back behind defeat

lovers who meet

in paired eyes

tears hidden inside - tight to

the need

seed of growth

seed of blues in wind,

warmth

winter waiting

to be seen

open fingers drifting

across the void

morning is a name

in free

to: a woman - waking

inside of me

/ night blues, alive

,

creation across the black,

two hands upon an open sack

into,

back onto the streets

wind before defeat

on the edge

wind through a hard open sun

morning wakes to a woman

within.

- jude

 

 

something broken,

something made

carve through water

crystal to stone - wind blown free

fingers -, time torn moving

a cry of feed / or need

warming but just the image

a surge of sky

long to the full and black

of a New Hampshire,

sky

feel from through grasses who know

of bend

back-streets begin and end

birth, on the eternal revision

of death torn

a finger known in sand

blue earth names the ground.

a voice - echoing from a wind

bend in torn trees

on our knees to autumn

words are free in silence

and in between, the weight of ever more

a door within a void

i know

hard lines - earth in its sharp finds

soft - are the shadows of light,

where a tear’s turn need

never face the mirror

ancient in jade

a woman within

sheets stained within a lost cover

cold as ice upon

her lips

long sips in blue

for stands tall

and seen

shadows across a wall

shadows upon a sky

towards

only fingers

whispering free.

-jude

 

 

 

no stage for where to

play - the songs of rights or wrongs

i long for a simple mountain

share - where the lines

between fear and hate

are the only of little

more then a robin

stolen from flight

scream -

with nowhere to lie

earth is all as frozen steel

with no hand owning no place

to even live

or die

whys are all the names of illusion

christmas falls as

shattered glass

colorless - candles without wicks

lying in shaded windows

the screams of fists ache now with

the wind and mud

a child cries still too loud

still, much unseen

to know what i

mean

a last hippie

with nowhere left to

be!

- jude

your name

torn one day in the wind,

you stand against brick mold

a fold

youth asking in old

ancient stays -

ice blades of fear hold to the

hands of long broken men

who

just in the question of when

tear at your eyes

smile to slap a child

who smiles on a sight

no longer seen

dare what you mean

i stand, voiceless

yet with the trace of

my soul within my

cool hand -

such are the winds in death

as - they blow through

fingers washing

nothing clean

a building is but

stones across bone naked feet

sand loose in the street

there is no edge to

eternal defeat - though

sing upon a scream

to time breaking - words for

a face of

little or - ever is more

sore on the years of

an other’s - fears,

broken tears on a

broken name - the game

rolls on

as the wind blows in

remains -

something knows

to believe in stain

and beyond

a twig to break

under but just your

toes

into sound

a moment between

to see what you

mean

is but a name,

there too - rides the game

for not does the wind care

but swells,

only the cross of

freedom -

rhythm into rhyme

a frozen cross upon a

manhatten train

nameless -

/...

- jude

 

 

on a stage of pain

for no hold to remain

a domain of salt drifting

to all corners as the

wind

name a hope in the name of

a sin,

so lies a cigerette on a wooden edge,

forgotten -

as eyes wander, into

an unfocused

stare

a dance of mistake with nothing

in closed fists

to take

cold fingers sweat on a thought

pulsing unseen

, a silver thread - cutting

the flesh - below a fold

of brightened fabric

, for of once

a forest lied as green

across a floor

of water running cold

and clean

of a child warm and unsung,

naming love and

only for free

till concrete

scraped waking skin

a backstreet - brings mornings

and defeat

,

birth and rage

no props as

someone, rapes; tapes ice

warm and nice,

yellow sheets

lie on beds as belief

till the dance - will remain

till the dance, and

only pain!

- jude

 

 

 

in late summer

lies day

rain taints the air

mist in gray - an illusion

spray of names

i cross upon a window

where - eternal falls the lines

of water breaking

where distance pulls open my soul

onto a refrain of

yester-years wading into tomorrows

i hear a rhyme - so simple

fingers given to a find

of wood carved names before

the sky - where

evening falls - soft color, hard

into the calls of

autumn

and between my fingers

i lie, never easily

into a wedge of

broken concrete

pieces across the path of my falling legs

a rage where skin

rises unseen white upon my forehead,

something known - rises as a poem’s

ecstasy - hard through me

and glass is but light

a mirror past me

i see age, living alive

though closed and

wounded behind a

tree - and a war called

off by a single man

who could care less

and much too much - for all the

sails which open light and

color to white - to the wind

rain knows the rhythm of rage -

quietly,

- jude

into the winds of black,

i dwell,

darkness from the edge

of sleep

i carry on the tips of my fingers

a name

/ and a time of meeting

somewhere

i stare into a curved distance

to know - see - a face

closing with me

with something on the edge to

be -

soul winds

fingers as black light

a cross in bend

to the scent of touch

and distance closed

to the north of time

‘reach unto where, my fingers’

my body shakes

in a farce, as skin voice

in full scream

i lean toward sleep as

a biting concrete

wall -

and am forestalled from simply

drifting

as a voice in focus

my eyes lean left

to the side

to belong

within that

which does not

belong - but yet

for time to break

my fingers lie open, the void

free

with its price wandering slowly

into me...

but for free

do i stand on the edge of

open - windows

glass free

naked across my eyes

a reach born, for me

a wandering for more

then ever just

a leaning

is birth rising

just north of time

- jude

she needs

but only cry

a silver spoke silently

broke

silently

sail good-bye,

where in oaken wood

she leans - does she

;to open woods as water

wind rhythm , slow as leaves

bend

rocks are mirrors who

whisper words of yester-year

to her slow

moving

moving feet,

silently.

tired in eyes - concrete in her

tries

fingers beat nervously

against black steel fences

and rusted -

a stage awaits

unlit behind

dust ridden windows

tomorrow drifts with the

sky - gray in dark as

clouds

an alley echoes the

swollen rhyme

as is her voice

silence

capture a fear - a scarlet

wrap - holding

tight to her shoulders

and night blackens

she turns away

from her name

called

walks with, her

street light shadows

with all a full day’s

endings

never coming

as long fingers catch her ears

street corner strumming

humming a song

she remembers long

and, waits in a store front’s

shadows

with,

silence

she needs

but only cry -

needle tracks

who’s retreat lies upon her

flesh

she stands in a city’s silence

waiting, for

the amber rise of morning

and;

to die.