The Half-Moon Wind to the Mid-Morning Light

Watching the half-moon night,

and the stars seem a bit too distant.

The frost breath chill makes the dormant forest keep its pace.

I want to be the green lord perched atop a throne of thistle and pine.

but we've sunk into the kindled ashes where everything's so nice.

You're mind had fire, too long ago.

White now covers what you think.


Give me the dark away from the parking lot lights.

The violent smell of whiskey.

Watch the bloodbath shadow dance,

where serpents sting all too sweetly in the pale neon light.

The same dark hangs over your shoulder,

if you remember it or not.


Drink after Drink.

I'd rather take the harsh beating of valley winds,

losing myself to the sound of jackpines breaking.

Above me the world flies faster than echoed starlight.

A large gray owl gives the wind resistance,

with his swift wing sound.

Time seems to stop on the western front.

The earthly chill remains,

watching cold fog spirits rise north

as light touches the chilled air for the first time.


Destined lights and hearts binded in this sideshow dark glow.

Wild American bandwagons sent to indian camps.


Trusted backstabber, wind, violent thrusts.

Today seems like the darkest of days,

the sideways snow still leaves a lingering sting.

Each thought makes me feel the same

like a slave living passive days among this gray

Just please send these unlearned, unkempt souls away,

far away.




The End

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