some old country

baby I've been reft and
safety is no option
I've been left alone

Will I put too much
on your mind
falling doubt
will you ever try

rue my flesh
keep treading ground



sorrow becomes my strength

now on and on and on and on and on and on til the next time

Were we ever meant to see so much beauty?

                       




                           this much?







i don't think so
while our fingers curl
that window beyond
into our whims

you can crush
you can steal
you can hurt
you can spin
you can lust
you can yearn
you can search

and can too much beauty corrupt the mind?
for I know that it has weakened mine

and what is not is too much

flight back to the old haunt
jammed up with doubt
keep that folly:
I DIDN'T FAIL

I  D I D  N O T  F A I L

but parched and flushed
folding quick
resolute i might be
for a change i'm losing

SHOULD NOT BE AGONIZING
FLURRYING AROUND
WRING MY HANDS
CRAWL OUT THE END

fucked in my ways of making
go on, go on, go on and see

drops heavy
drink thickness
brunt of the blow

Midwest/Morning Pipe Dream

In the hope of the morning
I still long for another body
to be entwined and enchanted
with more than the idea

Then follow me down
a Midwest pipe dream
where nothing ever happens
like quiet spaces aching for sound -

To find the musk of an old chapel
and the dusk in late fall
some house on the outskirts, perhaps
with the wind filling the air with music

And with heavy sospiri 
waking from the daydream
2000 miles backwards, i sit
against the heat

and in the warmth of the morning
I still long for another body
a touching, tangible being
transcending the idea