starting at two she sets the blues

Starting at two she gets the blues,
A lingering willow pool,

In a tear she boils the veil,
Just enough not show any wear,
But to get the colour through the air,
To get the busy dark pool fed

At her feet the four winds blow,
In layers of lace the four rivers flow
And in the weave she hides a bow,
My pockets are full of robes,
The sign of tomorrows extra fold
Story of the wheel and the well
When I’m told there is too much to hold,
and I feel the moulde,

In her hands the mirror holds another courier,
All strung together like beads of flashing eyes,
Glimmering through the wilderness of light and shadow,
In the colours I saw her hand
In the shadows I felt her touch
An angel in the puzzle of her glance,
What they seek and what the hide,

Walls and salvation,
Glue for young impressionables,
As they try to penetrate her meaning,
Justify their fortunes,
They want to confiscate her free form lazy shoreline bubbles and foam
Give I was a berry seed,
Buried in a wildflower breeze,
In a her midnight oasis,
Grey green silver blue,
Round of Saturdays all ended up together,
A timepiece with another rhythm,
In her voice she hides another song,

Steps in the river she leaves a sign
She says she’s shy but she’s a shaker,
That keeps me guessing where to find the next fault line
An even keel to the cathode eye madness
And I don’t look behind her,
Secret nymph needs a big screen,
Little taste of a big stream,
Traces of her sweet knees,
Living in a fading dream,
Open groves in the meadow,
Groove along a half truth,
For every time I was safe and pure,
Always such a long walk,
To the arched prism Sunday,
Satin changes, pass the contracts,
Every time she open her arms,
Steam behind my eyes,
As the sun goes down,
In Sunday peaches,

Along the Nile.

for nights

Black lines on the window
Run straight to my heart
Repository of doubt
I just can’t wait to open the box
I find a couple of nigels waiting with funny little smiles in the corners of their mouth and eyes,
Another song in her voice,
Quicksilver catches fire in the whisper behind the mist ,
Now I say she can sing a bit,
And all the times I thought I knew my computation,
I talked to the garbage man about my previous incarnations,
My pig skin blues, guarding my secrets,
I feed them double, burning on both ends,
A crystal bet on beetle profusion,
Porous reflections,
Total conspiracy,
Keep me in sevens,
Culprit of belonging,
Stars on scars,
Swing lines and high wires,
Rubber camoflauge,
For anchors out at sea,
Three snails in a garden silently stretching,
Another shadow side holds out against the hammering ocean,
Sand in my eyes, tells me I’m just another citadel out in the morning sun,

The thin house,
The way of the red wind drifting in the rafters I don’t care about the mis pronounciations
Of my cousins words,
Sometimes they start at the beginning, sometimes they start at the end,
Sometimes they wait in the,
Soma times,
Soma timesed in bed,
Somatized exchanged and fed,

Stains in the shadows,
Eating away at the diving board,
Broken hinges on a bad gasket,
I take long strides and get lost playing in the open fields,
Where I was born and bred,
I’m only hear,
For the heart ache,
Each little tear,
At midnight, shadow ends,
Here comes the rain,
The feeding of all seeds,
What a melody,
All the things she says to me,

A loop flood,
Sugar mama, I’m buried under the sea,
And pretty parking places drowned,
In the loss of the weight of my arms,
And their eyes,
Floating over my head,
Falling through holes in the map,
The inheritance of tramps,
Edges I don’t understand,
Falling through fire I can’t stand up,
Hollow stick and a loaded gun,
What I thought was a lifetime,
Was a blink of an eye,
The key score didn’t register,
Tomorrows’ tides out again already,