HOURS

                                  i.
 

                        For
hours                     the hours
seem to exist
            barefoot

            into a black desert night

            The night before

made a special fuss over me

peered deeply into my spellbound face & said . . .

Who is equal to the Ancients?
                                

                                  ii. 


Squeamish        night-life        all-day       
night-life eyes blazing into the eye of the starry skies
as they blaze back        twinkling
the way that the energy of the ecosystem flows
as if like reveries            spirits of mountains

The cedar-scented nature-fingers
offer me my own sacred mountain

Why do I remain frustrated?
like backpackers looking down at torn maps
like sitting down into a seatless seat

I could run slap-across that river
that glistens as if spread with thick blankets
of diamonds

                          To savage the air
smoking from the volcanoes
            of our enchanted lore

I ran across that body of water
as if I were wearing Pete Rose’s cleats



                                 iii.


Negativity can poison the Brave
the Brain       I sit freely casting my own hue

into the day      air so Grecian it remains in the
corners of my eyes        the hours pass   
the interminable hours pass      leaving no witnesses    
                no witnesses 
 
except the hummocks of scattered crystal cataracts
of light that shines upon the parachute of the future
Existing within the hourglass        Realizing

is part of the process     adjust the weather
I prefer altered dimensions      Inside of the buckeye
I am pale as a corpse      breathing as the moon breathes