I

I, memory,
I, a membrane and ghost
meronym to memory
and free—

I can not find any way alone (ft. Ryan Hair).

As I go through this journey of life,
I can not find any way alone. I need you by my side.
I need you to be my true north, my compass, and my guide.

Subdued, my dear.
Unreeling in the emptiness
in limb by limb
we are dreaming;
the wind howls
and endures the body of the crow
and pigeon

solitary dream.

the canticle is seen through other eyes,

not mine, and I don’t understand a word,

whispers press

unmourned in your eyes,

the trace of winter

For that is only what we seek.

The roads, the valleys, the ripened dreams in solidarity,
To a handful weaved of a ghost aubade in speech
Evoking contingent flames unmourned, and embraced
As the shaken birth from the morning, I starve the feathered dreams,
As I no longer follow through with the nightlong autumn near the glass,
I hope we don’t forget each other, and that we will remember
The wind that passes through the roots, and the river rocks that sought for better dirt

Morning Snow. (Prose)

I feel the strangeness of the fire arose from the bejeweled brooks, and faded, golden rivers, strung by the heat, I wander as the ocean meets the shore and I go into the peaks of the world

Frail River (A Wasteland).

A lit flame upon the stitched rag of shore,
Which pales upon the blossoms of a winter rose,
I think of a frail dream with Greek souls and song,
That slightly breathed through the muted shore.

Pale to the Wind, I Drift.

I’d laid my hand, pale to the moans of wind,
Wearily drifting; and life is a dark flame
That could make the wilts of flowers wraith