Cogitus Rex

Into the deep blue of a night sky pour my lone soul and let the four winds blow these feelings to her. Ask the magic of the moons caress and the sparkle of stars to change the forlorn to a smile, plant on her lips this kiss I can't give and fill her heart with all I long to say. Send raven clouds direct and swift as sparrows, to wing my missing joy by her bedside a day away. Awaken her with the smile I save for her beautiful face. Great wheels race, take this melancholy, enraptured of darkness, and speed the distant moment of return nearer to this place where separated lovers meet. Mantle dark, which blankets many a sad lament, take this weight of waiting, lift it to the void, for my strength can only bring it to me on this wrinkled bed which sags in the spot where she would lay. Throw off this cover, rend these stifling sheets, urge the breeze she keeps to wrap me instead and air this space of ...

...the moment comes when you find the center is a falsehood, the road will kill you surely as a stroke rejects the heart of hell rising up to greet you, to share your triumph, festooned in garlands of fruit and roses kissed by the cupid, shot by panthers, that roam the streets of all small ventures... toast your success and wait for the other shoe to fall, trip up partners, search for new mates and twist the meanings of words so they glean an advantage, gold gleams and silver is pretty, the heart hardens as the years drip from open vanity, you never knew, it didn't matter and the day comes at last... push those hands deep into these pockets and deliver the freedom of kingdoms to me, return the old sweaters to the mall, visit the garden of wisdom, save the experience of wilderness and bleed the animals for adventure, we build a better nature than she does so we win the game, and you think it's me you're fooling... where there is love the world goes round and when the ...

Citystupid and the light doesn't shine in my eyes blind longing and filling up the emptiness in streets that reek of unknown piss beer bottled up inside molds to stink and tar is its bed in the company of fines and arrest and filthy clothes borrowed from the charitable dumpster complete dissolution the dream of surviving and survival's fit only to be rejected for being glazed over  as ice in winter muscles emaciated so eyes can't  see giving up the ghost and keeping the lovely bottle trade me in for the deposit trade me in and keep the empty trade me in and keep the change trade me in I'm too stupid now to live in the city. podo

So this is the future... a lashing wind that blows hard enough to rip plants out of the ground and leave them dangling to the lines that had held them secure the ties transformed in nooses, little dead tomatoes wither the rains, too light, carried on the winds loosen the soil, making roots meaningless rotting saplings slowly yellow in the crater where they once stood firm even the sky, once all blue now cloven, like hoof part grey and menacing part azure, offering escape but no escape is available not from the mess we've made and too little too late is cold comfort when there's nothing on your plate my friends, there is no friend for a friend would have stopped upon realizing the damage being done no friend and not friendly the response is coming and on this evil wind comes the messenger warning of the fall, of the end of it all not just here, no. everywhere from desert to mountain and sea to shining sea, from rounded hilltops to rolling ...

Loganberries grow slowly vining their way across the ground stretching out spiny limbs to hug the earth setting little roots in to the moist loam sprouting new clusters of leaves they must be very patient because once started no stunted growth will express a part in the glory of a fruit as big as my thumb, loganberries in shades of green, pink, red and black surrounded by flowers that promise more bounty they like moist and hot, they like to be near rocks they hang from the trellis by the bodega keeping company with the grapes that also vine but don't hug, only strangle with curling fingers wrapped tightly around a node Loganberries are not friendly though they stick soft skin with harsh thorns pricking the fingers that try to groom and harvest them, much like a lion who will not suffer its mane be combed.

the       wind               blows                    hard     the   branches            it rips off                          the trees       litter              the                    ground around                                                  the cabin   ...