jumble

comes a hurricane

And what

to make it through the day

thus comes

to enfold the flood

that inspiration's future holds

and cures bold

as Isabel beckons blood

And onward

she trifles taunting

slow speed while

all the while

a deep vengeant speed ignites

in the eye

the hurricane waits awhile

Toward mass

encouraged by the daunt

of everyday wait

it wrestles with

the sleeping core

and outward doth

decay the gate

Belly burns

of spit forth steam

from upon potatoes boil

if off a certain

wind does blow

it is not a nation's toil

throughout the night

the earth doth shake

and creates a renter's foil

but alas does mock

and soon consume

the common owner's soil

Soon the bridge

will quake and roll

from beneath the feet

of all who stood

such close a guard

upon the street

of all the common good

Waiting now for night to fall

the eager pilgrim dread

the slow procession coming forth

of all the unheard dead

Out cast a spell

to entreat the old

of all of those consumed

as one who knows

not of the weight

of the undertaker's gloom

And then set forth

to entreat the source

of the spirit yet and pure

bedecked in linens

white and solid

shaped as of a pearl

And onward come

the sweetest pink

to alert of impending night

that settles forth

a red dusk rare

that culminates delight

The bubbles of

the acid come

to create a steady blur

brought forth

by pale moon yellow hope

that only few have heard

The speaking of

such whispers soft

of secret and absurd

the secret thoughts

of those that creep

in ancient angles long

a melancholy mournful tune

of those that are old

and gone

call

cracking

weighted dross of time

aging filtered toward distill

of never

of not

of next to almost

dry leaf scent wafts

through fall knowledge

as the dogs follow trail

of knowing

of need

of next hope hinging