cold water echoes

 

Without Compass, Needle Skinny Rose, 

pointed to heaven, lost in these words

in oblivious outcry I mend my first sight, 

whether it be darkness, whether it be light

Rune cast dyslexia in wells of cool night, 

in japanese gardens i seek jasmine might

with lotus skin deep as sleeping nomad tents,

my art i sell, my heart I lend.

Peacocks of nowhere buried tomahawks, 

passing further truths untold

my eruptive inwards heart of earth

 to shamans I unfold

a cave of ayashka, 

a hill of peyote

do not touch these flowers as they grow,

they are lines of age in stories written by the old

white tea and to levels of colorful rays i sing my morning song 

to early morning mist my passing season files I let unfold

to set forth the angel to the white light of the village hall

to find hope towards the fear of dying dreams that I have been told

soil and panther black outlines of design 

for Cambodian embarrassment of self.

Please do let me be sold as a pelt

the chains I carry but not as slave.

I died a million times for you.. 

&  I guess that tenderness is a weakness

More hills over cold water echoes

Clarity Paths - 30.10.2020