Transference of Power

Perplexing, how it is done, shut off one light.

And, a new season has begun.

Brown, no longer, brown…it is everything.

The war of winter and wind pulsing through wooded veins,

Whispers of curses among all that is not public domain.

But in the end, unlike no breathable battle in history.

An auspicious transference of power…ends with only beauty.

an Elemental Rebirth

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Such like lamp-oil and sulfur from a wooden match.

Emerald blades of grass covet my senses.

The day is dawning…it has recently begun.

Life among the living is an overnight sensation.

An elemental rebirth.

This stipend for me?

A clinging, a wanting to be amid the earth.

The nature of things flows with a certain beauty that tangles with despair.

Only a small allowance that lets my mind repair.

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Dusted Dandelions

to live here, an almost overwhelming feeling of having done something wrong

something…crippling from a former life

eight months, sometimes more…

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the edge of night, dimming like a sharpened knife

then with absolute, abruptness,

stumbling spirits are awakened…

and, thus with gold dusted dandelions,

the matter is set right.

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Macrame’ of Rancor

Spring has become a prohibition era ghost.

Over imbibing one minute.

The next…an ungracious host.

Spring has started as a thug.

Full of bluster and ‘what for.’

A dire Macrame’¬†of rancor on distant tropical shore.

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