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

autumn damsel hope

fresh red dripping

night scent and sounds abound

out in open air

dreaming

saw the fat pale cactus kick out sharp thorns of horror

as if to hide the succulent sweet beneath

soft foil against magenta coil bud beckoning lips to taste

tender meat bloom

swoon against olive dimpled smooth of day beginning ripening death

the end of leaves stretch toward sun's end in blinding burst of beauty

quickly gold gives way to burnt orange desire that crackles a snap quick curtail

toward heavy everyday brown

ground down disintegrated dust of must having throttled living out

amongst the street stones scorched by the searing days undone

but one hope left, that to see the binding of memory;

shell of crisp wisp autumn apple air firmly planted

meraviglioso il mare

Could it be, fate

takes again, promised breath

swelling birth jabs at late tide

awash with black weed tangle

I could not tell of

the great lap angle swell

clutching the shells and stones

want of solid's surface

bleed salt break liquid

on velvet shore pouring

the luxury of smooth

sooth topping inclined

could

stunned plunge into wake

of possible near sending

ending lunge of every

hopeful hope

could it be such

that at near arrival

departure is

bientôt

Non

let it not be so

as though I did not hear you

did not know

as yesterday

awakening

pure strength of

place in the sun

Veritable

need

seeks

moment

assured

un-undone

valved voice

Whitman's wind

shaded trees that lift

soaring over fed

by deep filtered other

sought inception

culling presupposes

in unique twain

searching

upon meeting

by slight tipped

whisper words only

every

grazing in soft

flooded could

coming slowly

into oblivion