Yellow Head

lost in the raw hole in this world

Down below the whirlwind of stars

white angel prisoner of the blinded god

From down in the hole

Book of the Fallen Blood Moon

Book of the Fallen Blood Moon

Chapter 3: The second soul of the unhappy

The roar of the machines burned and pressed down upon her

she saw heaps of flailing skeletons clambering uphill, like marionettes strung by paper

they knew none of the serenity notes and miraculous beauty in the space around its image

showing its belly to the blue was a city in the distance, heat waves moved and chimes tinkled

a slight wind blew at the turn of water filled bowl, ripples of reflected light

Small bells pushed at the air with her souls invisible wings

and she turned to black day, her back against the mast

a charcoal raven blew through the bleached air with mineral aplomb

silently crossing the sky and peering down with intransigent dark marbled eyes

she took it all in with the singing grace of fathomless intelligence, a gliding shadow across the sand

Rain came again and again; clouds and shadows ran and shifted the rocks

vapor got driven out by the sun shining briefly hot on the sand

from the earth’s deep pores a veil of mist surrendered to the mighty call of the faraway star

vanished into the ivy covered trees before even a breath could be taken

against the shoreline rose cliffs of now and always, strange waves and mass-less particles

White scratches spread erratically onto their faces, a line of pale alkaline bones

steep cliffs jutting full of old fossils languorously grinning out at now like teeth in a memory

etched fabrics made of pink sandstone and quartz, rippled with immemorial partnership

an old gun sounded from lost faith and lost peoples and lost worlds in the muddy vessel

nobody spoke and soon it too was reflected over the surface of the glassy water, somewhere

The shot glided out at the speed of sound and hit the wooden sloop with an empty rage

scraping at moss and dusty old spider webs the audio waves dissipated into blue fog

the girl heard it and turned in circles and started and stood up on the deck of her ship

in a rotating and invisible fashion

spinning and singing a song whose words flew away from her in distress

she was now enveloped by the blank space, so away into her future fled the new soul of gifts

Soon she had forgotten her separation

the play enfolded her ghost kisses

caressing the masterpiece wrapped in its veil of stars

forgotten and alone without need

smooth stones were touched lightly by the space that held the fields of heavens last shadow

Frequencies burnt the split atom

They loomed on the beach with a dead oak tree

A shattered radio pretended to be possessed of genius

from the notebook

Book of the Fallen Blood Moon

Chapter 2: Clown of the Moon

Time, the tree, saw the room like a transparent ghost

the one she vaporized, and a woman could be seen walking naked

betwixt the resonating city, belted by old wooden floor boards that yellow squeaked

a shimmering heat wave mimicked the antipodean sun

there was no sound

Above the wooden desk an endless albescence coated the dirty milk sky

nobody spoke for fear of a little ufo on its surface, glaring with whiteness

the floor and silence filled the space with time

there was dried blood and madness on the leaves

influencing the imperceptible waves

In somebody’s summer dream the wind blew hot

there was a boat floating by on a softly warm day mirror

it looked to be one entire entity lying floated and gently tossed

the water was smooth as death and named sound, green cold and alive

it clandestinely bowed in a hollowed divot cut out of the earth

Blameless and caressed from shore to shore

the soft wave barely moved, but when it did the mass uttered a kiss

and as one, the mud colored fluid seemed a shuddering aliveness

from inside gravities lustful spurious flame

intent on existing forever

The water

metallic, metamorphic, protean

it possessed the small green boat, black sail folded into sleep

staring at the sky with her back to a mirror

a young girl of eleven was sitting in the curved prow of  her “good reason”

Her hair swirling in vision the mast without sail

she was growling a guttural animal noise her eyes closed

a book called the seven sisters with an old leather cover etched in symbols

fluttered its pages and sporadically covered her face, free from poisoned rules

she read at the book, stabbed at it and was irritated, bored and unsettled

She was a small metal thing with a jewel inside it

Showy and universal, it contained her within its mortal body

A green eyed monster, transient madness in a vessel of crumbs

Book of the Fallen Blood Moon

Book of the Fallen Blood Moon

Chapter 1: All Saints Day

Spring flooded the house with abbreviated despair

something had to be written

so that when it was necessary to turn away the spoon from tomorrow

a little less light on top would be all that was there

what did it matter anyway?

Velvet shades drawn bloody red and withering

sunlight filtered into the dark room

through heavy insect variation she stood golden

and between veins of word and in their heat exhaustion

she prayed to the deadly involvement of illusion

The pillar of light waves defied description

scraping at the fine toothed silver in its stilted awareness

a mass of tissue hit the desk top wood

heavy, deep, and brown it gave a little shudder

remembered when it was a universe of slowly vibrating compromise

Grass and grunting beasts shrugging off flies

butterflies above the stretching horizon plains through space

light travels a long time to hit your eyes and then where does it go

it hits a black and white photo of a guy hanging dead from a tree

a picture I saw today looking up at him with nothing left to lose

Made me think like the tree

hung

with dark figures moving forward

ride on the minds space thing

and put that it was time to make an effort

Into the diamond born again on the lovers sweet sandy hands falling

into a place where I can’t give everything away to you at all

falling and dying quickly the jewels gun fires grit for the mill

to make a self glow, to turn into the light

before this flaming eagle breaks the spear, flutters my ghost into oblivion

I am the fallen, I am the unknown, I am the you in the last breath

I am the arms you are running to

in the garden of remember when we lived like this