Le coyote solitaire au-dessus de Los Angeles

The moon his only friend
told him soft stories
in the dusky glow
the world is all busy
all clutching this city
all grasping
at things below

it all leaves off
it all falls away

and  stripped
and alone
is the waking
of that dying day

when one says goodbye to
all not united
the all unrequited
and the self rises into fits of the unknown

mysterious beginnings end
translated spirit bends
 the friend there to greet
the one that defeats
with
love abounding more
the one that walked
once invited
walked into the open door

and never left
evermore

Behold, there Ariseth a little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand

Trust in the prayer for one day rain,
past the axe and the valley of pain
in a walk above the fog of a perplexing place,
now the calm of a forest friend's face.
the hand of hope
triumphant
invisible
wind

deux dans cinéma

they went to watch
the life they wished to live
together their's had dripped away
while all the real living
disappeared in days
days gone by
days not done
day notes of cricket
And beauty sold the ticket
I should have bought one
or said to the beauty
before we get old
will you write in reality
 a tale to tell the old?
all this light for lenses
project on the screen
to the hilt of the knife
Life! all the way life,
into forever beam

Le détective masqué

No one could see what he sees
no one could see him seeing
peering over Parisian news print paper
he was watching everyone
paying attention to everything
he saw them all
solving his mystery's call
standing still as the shadow's tree
only I could see him
wondering...
did he see me?

a head instead

no one knew about the two people walking inside his head
stirring with dust and ash
the loveless eyeball extraction
left him for dead
but he remembered his action
and rose from his bed
to carry on shoulder, his excellent bolder
and in his dreadful path
continued instead 

No Lyon

a shut door
the strange distant shore
desolate city bound
longing for the fearless friend
longing to the scraping end
what was lost
to be found,
evermore

Still, on the Stone Streets

Far from Detroit
feathers that fall
the spirit returns
in resurrection waves
then with peace,
when with power
like the resonance of the smell of electric memory
forming the shapenote
of  forever
indestructible
song,
the sealed soul
and her strange new morning place
far from rubber on road
and the spilled night time gasoline,
 all still,
on the stone streets