130: valley of the gods

It was like no one else saw those mountains, those golden deserts, until we stepped in it,
drove through its sand, burning man at noon.
Man-made oasis, green paradise faded on the second go-around
And notes travel farther on flat land. We are a commune of strangers, deserted life
always looking for that pinnacle. Rich wasted youth with a motive. Bare feet on dry land,
skin fed to the sun.
Everything consumed to the tune of a dying riff.
One last cheer for the Space Man, and the satellite ashes we never saw.
Dust in our eyes, galaxies formed and turned to rust.

129: waves

But the snow covers the branches it broke, and the ice carried its weight,
And the pavement sleek and beautiful. And the city slept,
And we slept, without a glow around our faces.
A quiet storm, muffled roars. Thunder lurks in winter.
Greenery abounds beyond fragility, washes away the dirt.

128: east-west

It's almost as if words
can't explain the lines that have been drawn
like swords, voices sharp like paring knives,
cutting through my memories. Framing them,
encasing them in glass boxes. Used to be able to
touch them, feel its softness. Smell the city's sweetness.
So distant we can't see it rotting. So far it seems perfect.

127: Static

Through and through and through
the caged bird tune, it echoes
courteously

Golden notes with raven lining

Peering at those shells that move and speak and pray.
It cannot pause to think - It's already gone away without
those sights. Cannot think a single focus, but a dream
It spills through the thin white bars and rests itself upon
your feet. Inevitable through distance, invisible without.


Grasping air,

arms reach away --

skinny Love, those bones it wraps itself in
mirrored glass and the unseen. Muted thoughts that hear the softness
of the dull,
Tiny ghosts of words divine and silent buried underground,
engraved in nothingness, yet filled with sparks. . .
Blind ideas grow in arid space and still its lungs, its lungs
can bear to breathe as if asleep;
Enclosures of the unsaid, collected and bound,
streams of consciousness flow with upturned arms,
holding blank pages,
locked in the Grey.

And still, the blinking light
seeps through the
spaces in
between
the bars.