Tailor Bell

Every night I must give up to
the next day
Grow tired, retreat and fade away
My heart calling out for more time
...

Out of my mind
Dug her up again
Her shiny coat
Pulled tight
...

Where ever she has gone
Is there a thought of me
As she looks up, or down
From my palm the old stone
...

There I was hammering nails again
into the highway
When Marge walked up from behind
'Hey benchworm...making a fort, eh? '
...

Beyond my upper deck
Before the open bay
Large houses line wide canals
Persistent molars of a near edentulous jaw
...

preferring not to read between the lines
but rather to witness the carnage, the visage
face to face
on the fast rollercoaster
...

In twilight days of half meals
We gathered weapons in, anger
Long stilled into vaporous ether
Whisked away unseen, a constant
...

Far from the feast of nine delights
From full ponds lillied in shimmering light
And boastful gods in vineyard white
We whisper approaching dawn
...

Faeries lie
And tell mortals
They care not
For it, yet
...

Here on the surface of the sun
Its hard to remember what you were concerned over
Ten thousand degrees or more
Inside hosts of hot-house cooks abound
...

I've been to the river
Lieutenant Picker and me
Seeking wisdom
Short among tall pastels
...

I need concrete with sharp corners
Green waves crashing onto rocks
Brisk air and salty stares
...

Anticipation
Opens a bloom near my reach
Untouched yet the heat
...

Full moon jags
Round this little town
Swinging low and deep
Within without a sound
...

Later on, my childhood friend Karl Marx
Was a big success playing in a rock band
Together we listened to smuggled Tull, as kids
He and his science friend introduced me to The Beatles
...

Silent bell and silent sun
Space enough between us
Now as then
Attached to spiny beliefs sharper at each start
...

I wish all day
That I was small
I turn to fast
And things just fall, away
...

Where, if now, brown cow
To see of me and be of me
To trade me at the days end
When after little work lay thousands
...

Shiny and twirling like a mad martin
Over a pond full of lazy mosquitoes

My nickel flipped end over end
...

It is again, the line of rulers, emporers
The long walk of brave little men
Passing in silence
As they guide themselves in
...