The beauty inside is liquid
It is written on the face
The label says sweet and deep
Like a bottle of liqueur
Most won't recognize
Won't open the lid for sniff
Or a tipple
And the bottle's contents sweetens still
Tears distilled
Sugars unfermented
Always fresh and invigorating
After I take a swig I check the level
It's still full as if letting me drink was purpose
We slept in the gully waiting for the one
Early evening said it would be a long night
Next morning picking up trash along the causeway
The marshland around begging the sun to burn of it's fog
The Sun came marching in from the east
A child from the horizon falling on 19 hills
An adult by the time it arrived before me
Illuminating the shade, the snakes and all of my failings
It followed me and surpassed six my own Kamea
And beat me to my own destiny willing it more than I
It made me wax nostalgic about night, long for darkness
The fantasy of the mortal mind makes the past seem better
When its distorts build cases for it's stories
A hand extends from the firey entity from it's bridge
Directing my face toward 108 rows of growing things beneath
And I will walk in these straightlines as the Sun itself points
This falcon sits on the wall
The brick darkened dull inane
It sits enjoying the rain
It's glare sharp and hard
Looking down into the stockyard
for an easy meal about
One that would run out
Between the piles and equipment
Unaware something was different
Not noticing the diving bird
The rush of wings unheard
Then it catches it in its mouth
Return to the wall top beady clout
Severing the creature it pounced on
Devouring it into chunks ensconced
And digesting it gloriously down
the pitter patter sounds
all rodents stay hidden
So the appetite grows
Blood in the bitten
The dying mouse and bad weather
Warms the falcon heart under the feathers
These knowers sit high up and speculate downward
Lost in the rocket ship of conjecture
These knowers share titles
But they cannot see the truth
The ground up there is shaky
Not for plebs like me
But for the ill conceived schemes
They live to create
And they come crashing down
stale meteorites
All the bribes and documents
The trail of unwashed cash
The knowers can´t control
The flow of information
And if the population
were not distracted by religion and football
These knowers would know no longer
I am the mover
You are a place
A small manor
a roundhouse
Next to a funeral home
I came to visit you there
Your face was the wall
Told me to be happy
Told me to keep my head up
You are the place
You are the furniture
You are gone
replaced by time and new people
Sinking into the woodwork
I saw your face in the photo
but you are the house itself
Silent and unmoving
Your smile is invisible
But i can see it
Father how long have been dead
And You´ve become a small house old lad
Rather black and white a silhoutte of a place
No eyes nor mouth
Just thick into the walls
Hovering in the corridor air
like a net catching human vibration
I have let the salamanders out
They have too many appendages
The sense of connection in the clearwater river
They swim awkwardly toward me
They look for a way out
We close it all up with big gate
Locking it again and again
with chains and latches
The deep pool parallel to the flow
Where the creatures worships humans as gods
Yet we are not gods we are just strange mistakes
Kind of like you salamanders
God sets it out and this I will be
Forever caught at fifty-fifty
Adventure fades into predictable years
Safety grows heavier with all its fears
He said one won't be better than the other
Maybe he's right, there is no other
The clock keeps spinning, the road keeps grinding
I build and build, but find no finding
The road is a metaphor, but wherever I go
The same dread follows, nowhere fast or slow
Someday I'll settle, the hunger will die
I won't even know when I stopped asking why
The rain comes down, reminding me then
This is life, this is it, again and again
I don't want sadness, I don't want alone
But there is no door, no gilded throne
