Monday, January 31, 2011


Knock, knock said the wind.
I whirl here, thou feet of lead.
Dance with me or walk away
But you may fall, if you're unfed.

I stir the thoughts inside your soul,
And bleed you like the mountain molt--
Take my helms and cry thine tears
At my feet, in the dust, I watch you roll.

I balked at the thought of losing her--
My pride, her mind, my faultless ego.
I called her phone to hear her speak,
But her heart was gone, floated off--
or lost somewhere.