There you are
still within me
holding court
keeping perfect rhythm
with the percussive snap
of this bastard heart
there are no questions
the others can see
where you’ve been
where you are
what is yours
what has been
what will always be
your acre of flesh
your altar of appetence
your harbor of sun
your hue of plum
all which is decreed
yours, only yours
dwelling eternally
even beyond the pyre
tethered and entwined
my ashes still rising
to dance with your name
and all that’s holy
upon the Autumn wind


Autumn to Winter

Autumn days had seamlessly merged into winter, who’s breath floated like a misty veil to cover the backwoods of my youth.
While, slowly and noiselessly, the needles fell one by one from the pine trees, strewing the withered grass with a carpet of gorgeous hue, reminding us all that divinity can exist in a hateful, ruined world.