before the root is squared

it’s time is paired

down upon - itself,

fixed upon a roaming wall

trembling on the edge

of the irrational -

a factor who might

own solid within,

the wind

but what is freedom

when you don't care

as where is freedom

when you do!

loose within herself

reaching for reflections real

and - never

and skaters believe,

the pond frozen -

accepting a smooth ride

for warmth,

while lives breathe

so, easily unbidden -

hidden on the belief,

across the love of nature’s law,

as, a mother

falls for a child

and ice may hold rhythm

it holds no rhyme,

till water is

its own motion

but again,

black eyes of the woman

are bleeding in brown -

tearless - with

nowhere to stand

around

words travel without sand

while doors rise open

into eternal ground -

she bleeds ,

irrational

her strange craving right

demands a tearing sight

flight

somewhere free . . .

while walls,

are walls no more

but calls on the need

of a strength

all equally beside,

the female rides

a woman's stride

rational

easy words

but never quite

names -

till she is free to be -

,

or breaks!

into retreat,

too many demands -

when the world

holds a seat -

dualities slipping -

rain isn't quite snow

a woman ever strangely

trying -

is seen

somewhere, long

inside

to barely lean

into herself,

within a living

wind -

- jude

black dreams -

crossed into movement

on lines of red

an ancient scream -

walks - still,

though it’s flesh

could pass for

dead -

drifts the snow, on

against doors who open

inward -

footprints covered

within an eternal blow -

somewhere below

frozen earth,

winds grass

rooted deep

a scream of thunder

and then silence,

as old wood -

rocks, just barely,

naked, drawn warm

to covers -

a woman wakes

for a moment -

deep into the night

almost in the light

she fears to hear

someone near -

then smiles to herself

turning he breathes

somewhere in the

darkness

enough - ?

sleep stirs

and her dreams almost

breathe awake,

turning, she breathes

alone

deep into scarlet

covers warm -

black dreams,

crossed into movement…

- jude

 

 

 

and someone asks,

this question of me;

"it is new years eve,

and the night is free

all the million faces

wish to be -

so why - do you

sit so alone in

your fogged room

sipping but only wine?"

could i find an any woman

lying on her, on my bed -

nothing said

but the fluids who crave & flow,

shall i drink alcohol pure

within a mist of laughing faces

playing dots on the barely traces

or maybe

stand beside someone i know -

watch a person grow -

nowhere a so far away -

ride on a haystack

covered in snow,

painting - mountain dreams

on a where,

i can't go -

corner myself with the mirrors

of people -

descend above the grave ?

find a name

and stay a while,

even smile,

forget, across the lips of

faces & drink -

yesterday’s death -

silly or not -

nothing is forgotten

& nothing is!

i answer;

" for i am "

. . .

- jude

she,

came to me with death across

her mind -

nakedness - or an open find

barely lying

her woman to be seen

breasts in waiting

teeth are grating -

as there is no escape

in being -

but for being

will she dare to

cry -

when, all too close -

will she say

good-bye -

not wanting to try

but to die ?

- jude

coal black eyes, list over slowly

in her name dice roll

pre-set,

she throws -

a man whispers through

the reeds - bending

with wind,

verses of sin,

lemon peal juices,

strain through her fingers - into

his hand -

little jack, sits in a

corner, waiting to play

but picture a man,

with the blue - clear wings

of the wind -

pressing him, always to begin

finding her naked

liquid upon his fingers

a line of real - breathing lingers

only found in a corner -

and picture -

ice drawn hands

simply the motion of commands-

holding no place

in the black sand

of who she is -

dare she to be -

one step beyond herself

closer to she -

wooden solders, never move

are but moved -

a one handed play

nothing to stay -

long enough to die

or birth within

the sky -

- jude

 

 

 

sometimes a lonely woman

dressed too fine

in leather boots,

and watermelon rind

with ice cracking prints

masking the silence of her feet

needing a touch of

warm black sand

to stir the movement in her hand

sometimes;

the tired girl

feels she must try

too hard

to be only

writing names behind faces

dyed clean,

too mean, ...

"but wander softly

young sir -

window as the wind".

afraid of being taken

raped as forsaken -

mistaken,

yet wanting all the same.

and long eyes

smile, so rare is the

occasion to dare,

hear me!, yearns the child

on a woman’s rise -

in the silence

a crazy man speaks,

of water

and winter

as of mountain peaks

whispering her name

across jagged rocks -

into the free

palm of the wind

always -

and never more -

heard, who she is

and what matters more.

with a million

reaching for time -

who leans to her as a

breathing find

but never mind -

a reflection - real

in my eyes

alive -

as frozen steel

lines of warmth as

she moans for herself

and something more

all for;

a candle flame, just

windowed across a

black night’s rain.

- jude

i ,

i am

that i am alone

in the flesh of rock

i live,

without stop -

breath,

to drop and die

again on again -

when

as forever

clocking nothing who tries

more then sighs,

to be -

silver flaked leaves

a tree

simple ocean forest

is simple no more -

to store in

devour in power

release without release

still -

and the fill - eternally

in motion -

who,

touch into the candles

on a world aflame -

to feel in move

closer then close

would dare deem to see -

mirrors on faces -

entwining into forever

the places -

that i am -

that i belong!

that i do not,

can not

stop.

bleed a little

a lot

create from the nothingness

that which is,

give form into

the torn

the void -

you are

you belong, you are alone, you belong

you are alone . . .

stop

drop into

create in defeat

as you retreat from

the breathing fire

you can never leave

retrieve,

and die -

for you are,

that you are not when you are -

and live the scream

eternally - quiet still

churning mash into

fill -

and live -

alone,

- jude

day in day

for time always passes

something never lasts

while nothing

merely fasts

segment the faces of

almost now

into your pieces of want

the beads on your fingers

are ice

and never seen

as someone never

there -

you need never compare

lean into what you paste

closed - to mean when

it doesn't matter

dare you not!

dream colors

circle in patterns

on your socks -

locks laugh - while they always

stop - the void from

mattering where it doesn't

belong -

longing for,

someone less

and ever more -

but believing

in the needing of

a closed door

on cold flesh and warm dreams

who is a woman

or a child

lying open fingers drawing close to mine -

yet immobile

stiff within the wind -

and as i have begun

neither will she

move -

or end

who breathes just to bend

- jude

ain't there nothing but dreams,

frozen eyes staring in

hidden screams

fingers moving lifeless

across an act of love,

frightened tears

laughing out loud,

on the voices

of broken women

setting up actors

for; an accepted play -

no one wanders - too

close -

or too near the side

of freedom to be

as;

so often not -

forget what's forgotten

always in a moment

of movement webbed

still -

don't say hello -

if someone, maybe i

standing in defined

ignorance of your

cast-mold state

or retake,

to sweated, fingers tipped

liquid warm -

by living dream juice

seeping

yearning

in flow -

perversion !

(but no)

it's so - reverse

sew death into glow,

decay into

a strangled solidity

of nowhere

held ever solid

never there;

broken -

all the women of life

married single free?

just not to be -

oh! mister man,

we grew them so well

stringing white

into black -

as black into moss,

bottomed in a well -

who touches,

that they may never.

solid before she's born

perversion

diversion

inversion -

she who loves

dares love no more

shattered glass webbed shades

lean death moves

into light -

- jude

who cries tearless

on the edge of

still-born, autumn wind -

colored in burnt red

a bed wonders

against a fractured cross

and her nakedness -

in the bliss of sensual nothingness

as the sweat of begetting into something

who can't -

silly lies

like frozen eyes -

bend like water-clear

reaching an ocean’s

salted end -

drawn tired, with an air she

claims to own -

sewn as patches never free

as she is - so battles herself

not to be -

why!

in contradictions, she but waits

to die,

"pull me, might i

live"

really she cries

in inverted tries,

woman touches the nerves

of flesh and more -

and no time can

clock, into the

breath

she tore across herself

like breasts within

the sweat of my hands

it sands the feint of restraint -

took a walk and heard her hand

fingers withdrawn -

yet an expression worn

and behind -

in front - erratic discourse

of feelings stretched

to long -

lives to belong

in innocence - stranger

 

afraid, to live - murdered

to die

she moves scattered

planting vine-green

dreams - with

screams matched so well

dwelling self-tied unspoken

a token -

illusion - or more

and her fingers know fingers -

in but seconds long

she lingers

trying to stay - while she walks

away -

i almost rise,

to hold her this way -

beyond the inverted care

i touch her - a woman solid

to another

as not,

soft - wind - free - green,

as the illusion of being owned

she laughs lovingly at herself

but the mirrors

she bought - who bought she -

also laughs the laugh -

the world owning her cash

surviving as ash

recalling her

a sash between her thighs

grinding seed

as it touches -

a woman standing between

touch and illusion -

but seconds long

she's free -

waiting to return

daring to yearn

beginning to burn

with scars - from a

naked man

never quite seen -

and i almost rise,

to hold her this way ...

- jude

framed by shadows

in the doorway -

whispered definite?

what did she say,

on the question -

no; ask it this way

'locked away by the world

or to die -

will i ',

and do i,

ask her to die ,

as i lean to her

with all i feel -

alive in the sky,

can't try to take her

can't try to break her,

can't try to forsake her,

my fingers, do they move

with death - as they bleed

the breath of living,

is it i -

who brings across

the light of dying -

another question,

who also matters -

what matters,

what does it ever matter

in this stranger’s world -

living so close to

the edge of

life or

death -

all the loving,

laughing - crying -

the worth of her eyes -

whether distance or

closeness ties,

will i speak of love or living

will i say good-by -

again on again,

- jude

at times

i meet, beautiful the face

of a woman -

naked and soft ,

sailing free from somewhere

inside

between,

the concrete walls

she's afraid to leave

and;

the need to own

death -

as an external excuse

for the not,

giving me a look

she dares not believe in,

she is more …

too much to be

looking to die -

it takes a lot to live

it takes a lot to love

it takes more to accept

if only

a moment which is

but it takes just fear

to die -

to lie.

what can i say

there is the life of a woman

across my way -

a living as precious

as the birthing

of a child into day -

i have no choice, just to ask

but not to be -

almost need to hear her

living,

not just dying in a play -

- jude

a fairy tale ends

without ever ending

was it fun,

the affair of lovers

real and in hard toy

form -

rocky mountain storms

pass unseen -

a morning turns

always too clean -

do you see what i mean

on the love of,

- jude

 

 

 

the walls are yellow,

the doorways white

as the ceiling also,

a room so very bright -

conversations with nothingness

so easily spread?

- jude

i know what i feel

soft and real

as i know where i am,

inside a woman - on the edge of

grass in fields

and boulders of steel -

the living as hard as rain

in winter warning to remain -

as who lies in as /

just beyond my hand

the caress of moon dreams

of raked streams,

swallowing me whole

leaving me special

and allowing - yet those dreams

yes, also -

for i love her as free fallen snow

also, as she

and all standing

on a question to be -

i carry her tears - fears,

yearnings - as her;

so strange to hear

but, love

i want her -

but can only her hand in me -

the sand of flesh

breathing as hawks filled

and adrift in the wind

as a woman

just with me -

free from the world sewn tears of

men trying, to remain

to own her

regardless of real or tearing stain -

you own the freedom of

my soul - to be,

and known

and all i am -

just me

but; me ...

- jude

 

 

 

woman,

say hello ...

or

say good-bye

give reason to

this screaming

who ties me

so full and empty

hard against the sky

you matter,

and no realization

can try

- jude

with stain on the edge of

living - restraint on

the line of giving,

water-wheels

turning slow -

river flow,

down in autumn

glow

river flow,

long within the rains of sand -

a hand bleeds for real

in life,

her breath,

as a wind within

my breast -

i hear her long across

my sleep - which is sleep

no more -

kept awake like a wooden door -

held just across it’s opening -

it’s rising refrain,

a loving stain -

who wanting, remains

pains of she ,

i can't ease -

her longings

i can't release -

i turn for another position

alone in my bed,

feeling,

a living warmth,

she

so close to me -

tied in time -

but living so

free -

- jude

 

 

 

inside, on a tide of loving

remains;

the grains of someone,

a closeness

who belongs

and longs eternally for more,

she is a woman,

quiet, so strangely free ...

in touching me

in touching she

waiting upon the wind -

carvings in rock

a water tree,

seams upon a sleepless night

maybe screams - but it's alright,

a falcon’s might -

in the waterways,

of moon rhyme -

timed in the motion

of real . . .

i wantingly feel - i am,

- jude

on the edge of living,

while within there is

of touch,

as of love -

movement un-timed in a timed

world -

hearing her alive

is enough, of a giving

soft in fine -

i anything but tire

to hold her -

on the aspects of her needs

children are the seeds

of her breathing

and weighted strains,

her tearing pain

from faces - demanding calls

almost falls - ?

i catch

her,

as i am i

i carry she -

so close here within

me -

she holds back quiet

almost -

the what are fears -

of hurting

those who need her

as, those who think

they need her -

as i am this woman’s love

so am i her pain -

in the living of she

respecting all i see,

and,

stranger to be -

- jude

time weighing

in the presence of

a million faces - traces of a world,

too much something,

in solidity on the

illusion of real -

stealing demands like

cages -

on hands, so

alive and free

she confides to herself

all the pain in strain -

her - fingers hold free

yet inside needing

a holding grip

and who is i -

she loves hard - yet,

whispers it - from inside

or carefully

on the roped ride

of our waiting - ever alive,

can she know

that, i am she

or, as - she is i,

time ticking years

across seconds -

wanting to say,

something

who needs not

the play of words,

i know -

the life of flow

between,

she and i -

forever inside,

but waiting for the

sky -

to confide

hands moving in

touch -

- jude

not thought,

or words - she stands beside

me,

lies across sleep

beside me,

and though,

it seems i stand alone -

i am the face of

illusion

on, a soul of real -

and who speaks of,

the obligations of lies

but a man, who

is a child -

holding her, with chains

of logic - because

he isn't,

lying of pain and loss,

which is nothing real -

wanting her children,

no, not because they are -

he cries for mirrors, illusions

to steal,

he dares not,

give - even

request to who she

is

or even more -

of the children,

who need - the bend of truth,

for they to come alive -

i laugh on the illusions

for they are nothing more -

she lives for she

giving her children

something to birth them into life -

as,

any pain - or stain

is just a scream,

fighting not for

but into

real -

what more

can we give - to teach our

children, but;

the love of living,

on the strength to be -

an inch of freedom

gives more

then miles of solid lies

and there is no need,

to rationalize -

the waiting, as they try

to hold you from me -

for i wait not

but,

am ...

and; i smile on the love

of a woman -

i smile on the life,

the movement of real

into the hands,

of her children -

in being,

she gives more.

- jude

with nights so long and sleepless -

street-lights,

amble through the cracks of curtains

which are but, yellowing sheets by day

to spotlight leaning walls

and to toy with,

these so, tired eyes -

reels of calls, waiting somewhere in the

wind

are circles

of a mind’s breaking tries -

whys are known

in answers, sewn

strewn across an enclosed

matrix of time,

who holds all allegiance

to the third hand of,

the clock -

seconds watch seconds

struggle by -

across this world

carved door -

from - a woman,

who is i

while, bound and tied -

by the frightened moral screams

of faces -

she tried to feel

from her lost hope

of real -

the illusion, is all but

she -

fighting we will be -

like children told,

to wait to be -

we are held apart

like a man of a woman

a woman of a man

like wind,

of love and more -

we hold

across nights, so long

and sleepless

living her, ever so close

within, me -

- jude

to touch her

into a closeness

she holds tight inside

born across fingers

to be buried

to the demands of time

as, of lines

who hold her

between who

are we -

into the play

of real on the edge of

movement

of real on the edge of

movement,

tears on her strength,

held on more then silence ...

what dare i say

who am i,

to be

not me -

yet i stay mine,

living close to she -

torn by the

closeness of we

who must stay

ripped away

though; never

i live her,

i love her -

free,

does she hold

or

train herself not to be -

where waits the

freedom

of our touch,

as we have,

as we are ...

- jude

the rain is beautiful,

it is life and real,

as are you,

i am irrational,

a child of nowhere street -

i spent years

demanding, to be or

not -

facing the world

hard as rock,

and feeling more then them

all,

i spend now

with no demands,

an open hand -

in a dream, you turn

around

and suddenly, i am not

there,

it is a dream, woman

for i am -

i stand still

and solid -

not of earth, but of the

wind -

you see -

you are free -

i will stand close

till,

you say good-bye

as then

in love, i will give you

the illusion,

that i am gone -

as i do live,

on the need, i would die for your freedom -

i have been touched by

someone who matters -

who is real,

within the void!

- jude

in a rage

between turns,

and yearnings

as burns -

of real in all its intricacy

solidity floating in a river

moving - ever close,

or often away -

tears of rage, a stolen phrase

as i stand on the stage -

i wake in morning

unable to hold the stillness

or move - and i swallow

dreams who dare me to scream -

i laugh for a moment

not in laughter but in rain -

i wake - shaking all the illusions

and takes -

i turn within - into she,

hearing all the places, i'm not to be

yet knowing touch

across the regression,

of who are we -

a man stands between

she and i -

where we stood,

he owns her care

or needs her there -

and the lines, who gave us

freedom - strangle her breathing

as they stood too tight

between two men -

between touch vs giving

while the giving has been her

living

and touch, but a dream

never to dare to walk on the

consideration - of real

she - needed the freedom - or

illusion, not to be

till time set her free,

while i held her real

it was living,

it was giving -

for our touch ,

which was to be

yet, which was

i weight her

but don't break her

only in lie could i forsake her,

she is as close to me

as i,

and because - i

as living

she owns the freedom

to carry this man

till time

sets her free

no script, to hold

us apart

but the real, in the loving

of she -

her needs to be.

it is a hold,

in the touch

of we…

- jude

it is like you stand,

of a street -

so long and empty -

concrete-acreage,

wind blowing

dreams - hand across

the above

of building walls

and stones like

gravel - cower in corners

a breath of life -

or even a breath,

i wonder

build me a box, safe and warm -

facing - nothing or even

torn

or

facing yourself.

- jude

is there death,

i feel -

in the movement

of my living real

across the edge of

touch -

more then

with a woman -

of you in love

and no,

until ...

- jude

 

 

 

a hitch-hikers flight,

air turns for warmth and

movement,

winter slips into the recesses

of another time

and flash sights

of moments real and waiting

forever

on who might venture

past - of those peopled

walls - social needs

or greeds

broken feeds,

so time cracks

and i move,

of mountain’s eternal

in the sky, free

from the black strangling

names of people, demanding

more then me -

of roads, stretched

in forever motion,

locked against the

circled

closed rotation -

as men without feet

of a long climb

aside the water scream

of a waterfall

remembered in dream

feeling when you

feel,

the wind blows through you -

and i've known women -

met

when inside, the dream

or scream - called

for motion

yet - the sights

still were of a mountain’s

right

as flights,

rocks who never

 

see me

and not of women

even in all their

loves and need -

and i know a woman

strange;

that i dare to believe

really that i see -

that,

the wind as it blows

through me

is a mirror of my

touch into she

as freedom yearns

when time moves

and i turn -

i am blown

not towards

the transgressions of

majestic rocks

but;

into she -

into me -

that nothing more could,

hold - so free …

then, loving she,

in touch -

- jude

you sit down

and maybe for a why,

but there is too much more

to

single it on that,

simple? across an eternal

rage

the stage - is decaying wood,

all so little good

as props fall all around,

almost broken or breaking

world-hello, please

but good-bye -

eternal

tired tries

even on the edge to survive

asking so little or

nothing more,

lying - stands only on the floor,

to, write a poem

to move the art,

of my touch

into a moving feel

or give

or steal

reveal -

when walls are of nothing

bending hard against something

real,

to say,

or to be -

all to free

all to free

like the woman ,

i love - held close

to me -

sweat in sweat

as words upon words,

more always more

in the simplicity

of enough

- jude

was it a bus

or was it a train,

these windows marking

their nowhere distance -

how - eternally the same

are they,

snow, like a mother white

yet,

formed in all distance

just passing by -

barely reaching beyond the window

a reflection -

back into my eyes

a woman in warmth

within a cold window

within my soul -

as i go

to stay

- jude

a place on the street,

i took -

had i a choice

that i would but

take hold of

that,

void in color - just as reflections

might be real,

where streams are air -

full feel,

is every moment in care -

to stare hard across

my face

into traces ,

who might be me

on their need never to be

with the wind as bending trees

carving to be free;

but yet, concrete rides upon

my soles -

walls crawl, in looking for paths

to fall across

seagulls - are shaved

into pigeons - garbage dreamers

who fly

the circles,

and never leave into the wind -

yet walk is all

i can do -

still or eternal in

the fill

of light in sand

black upon my hand,

a man, but never just -

a poet - and must,

sand is a woman

like wind blowing out glass freedom

solid -

had i a, choice

i had

mountains against the wind,

gives eternity -

 

so that she gives to me

close to her - never lonely

islands of movement in a concrete sea

- jude

sleep on the awake

side of our bed,

sheets are white regardless in

the frame of reference used -

time tries to echo,

against walls

and moments move -

i touch her,

or/as

she touches i -

presence definite in an open void

cold in air streams

waits patiently to

erode the strength of

flesh in fingers

of touch -

such as light,

where we reach

is - where we are,

time is the illusion

closing onto

closing into -

of ;

she as i

carves as a song

in - trees who are wind

we begin with who

we are -

to swim in sweated touch

into -

closeness hard till

closeness is as it is,

screams whispered in

ecstasy

once met

never the yet,

just always -

walls in distance form,

move us occasionally - apart?

where fingers & eyes may not see

never the less,

she stays with me

not in dream feel

but real within energy moved

and felt

- jude

night under a broken

street-lamp

sky - painted deep

three-dimensional star

patterns in light

drawn back -

further then

or closer when

and they follow the child

as she walks

or runs

goes then comes

a glimmer of cold

against my feet, where shoes forgot

and skin dare not retreat

moving - warmth between the

folds of wind; in blowing

explosion

to lean so far into eternity

you recede

deeply into yourself -

alone

no...

the palm of her hand

opens slowly,

holds tight,

hidden tears pass

in flight -

everything is left

and it's all right,

like sand etched within my

fingerprints,

in a void between

stars and light,

nothing is empty -

crossing against shadows -

i lean,

into who is there,

on trails of

anywhere -

everywhere...

- jude

the sun, well it just stands

there

across to the sky -

dusk considering

just not quite yet

water down in hidden movement

on; i whisper through

me

as - the wind blows

hard, tearing through my

hair

leading blatant nothing finds

into something -

till, where am i

or going

into timeless relating -

demanding, but forever

what -

more i, carved in the wall

who grows to stand

hard around me,

don't water me

down - world,

not even mountains

in their eternal reach

through;

pointing fingers

into, but past the illusion

of day -

the night is the sky

seen

beyond the swallowing

delights of

earth reflecting lights

a space of

stars - dream specks

of eternal light

free in all distinct movement

touching the void

into forever -

all across

somewhere in the here of i,

her fingers -

alive through

within mine -

upon descriptive sights

simply, or there -

touch - carrying with me

as i -

while i turn

instinctively

beyond the iced concrete

of stalls

in wall fashion

always broken

out,

into the

free moments,

growing longer

of me -

mirrored -

moving in sight

untouched

but of i;

and she

- jude

child wouldn't cry

as rides the fear,

of movement saying

good-bye,

she tries

in her love,

wound so deed

hidden when it is not,

often forgotten

broken hands

they of her belief

one fingered touches

or such of worded faces

simply there

leaning against the

lock of her care

hidden whites hear on the greedless

floor - into closed doors

never seen

as never known

for what sees a

child

is real - into,

need’s love

so,

tries she to hate

when, her love doesn't

relate

then breaks

returns

burns, nowhere to be seen -

something is meant to mean, so much

more

toys scattered, forgotten

on the floor -

craving real, while fearing (in birth)

the feel,

demanding faces

to dance her call - upon the

fallen walls

so voided / or so warm