the age of enlightenment

the first time i went crazy
I thought it was enlightenment
the journey of the heart painfully slow
in response to the mind,
the world passes
in a cosmic blurr, the formation fo birds
a random letter from another continent,
a distant shore, and the defining
moments of first kissing starlight
the blue tar of autumn, the crisp leaves
the vacation on a lake, befor you could swim
the dented halo of perfection
after a while you stop trying to keep track
let the constellations label themsleves
let each appetite find it's secret enumertation
let the dream expand heavenward, until
the actions of this body eclipse the sun

retrospect: snipers scope, feb.20.05.

the snipers scope carves
the world into quadrants

life inside
of the enemies eyes
A lens that disects
the smallest weakness
and amplifies fear a thousand times.
distills hatred into poison

Until the bullet of logic
deciphers the back of yr. skull
blasting loveblind eyes

The shattered vase of memory
still ripe with red flowers.

All of tomorrows plans
unrealized, unlaundered, unlived.

The palace you were building
made of imaginary stones.
The wife, father,
mother,child and grandparents,
the family tree
severed

dissapear sooner than a blink
quicker than the flickering flame

windblown cornice

Embracing the memory of karmas
Escaped shuffling through the past

Like the snowshoe hare
Escaping the death-fast wolves

Life has become an epic mirror
Of mountaineers,
Scaling the winter wall

A veil of
Frozen tears,
Cascading
Stopped in time
A fossilized butterfly

The eyes of
Prehistoric leaves
All chlorophyll green
Jade like
Upon the mountains face

Alert eyes reflecting
upon the silver shimmer
The thunder and rain
The sky dives lower
Icy pinnacles
And razorous teeth

The avalanche will sweep you away
Drown you, break your neck
Stuff your mouth with snow
Squelch the spirit
And mute yr. last breathe


This for the panorama, neither bird,
Goat, god, nor man
Can take beyond the grave

Witnesses the plummeting meteors
For a moment, like magic
The memories
Preserved in a stony eye,
Frozen irises
In a frozen blue vase
The magic of ever having lived
At all-- the tragic miracle
It is god who builds the mountain

And the mountain that builds the man

Sunday in March

The snow melts too quickley
the darkness soon dissapears
moose bones emerge from the snow,
pieces of fur, bent over trees
buried dreams

I confess in the infinite chill
that re-birthed my new found life

I will walk another season
see the creek ripple

witness the midnight sun
make new promises
and keep ones I long ago
forgot