Undulated Dew

Silence—

as deep as an ocean,

seems to end our spring song too soon

until soft warmth

drips

off your roscid lips

and sends ripples across the room.

Wild Dance

Whistling winds whip away at withered leaves

coercing them to sway and dance

into an invisible ballet,

like a stringless ventriloquist.

Airy and wispy, the strength amazes me

and I feel myself pulled

by nothing

towards nowhere

but on and on

nonetheless

and I wonder what allows

such a boisterous wraith

to wreak havoc on the elderly residents.

Angry turbulence and resentful gusts

I fight against on all vectors

trotting on myopic as a mule

saddled in dignity.

I ignore the dancing leaves

and pierce through the medium

like an arrow through flesh

and I continue through the contiguous solution,

heeding none of its warnings

of an immensity unseen

and far too visible,

and march on triumphant

only to be left dancing in the current

along side the foliage

I once ignored,

and hated.

Sawdust on the Wire

Here it is, that feeling.

Starting at the centre of my sternum,

where I keep store my solemn secrets.

The same scene floods back.

Starting at the centre of my sternum

and, working their way up to my brain,

the same scene floods back;

sawdust on the wire.

Working their way up to my brain,

the new pills soon take effect.

Sawdust on the wire

dissolves in the synapse.

The new pills soon take effect.

Here it is. That feeling

dissolves in the synapse,

where I keep store my solemn secrets.

Spillage

Nobody realises how much they piss

until they aim into a pint glass

and now all that I'm left staring at

is another sentimental spillage

that my body's cell can't sustain.

The Final Stretch

A variegated verdure of tendril-like veins

vesuviate their stillatitious sudor.

Sweat sweeps down sinew strengthened trunks

with each strident stride; with each replanting of the roots,

engraving an ephemeral power

against the pot-holed pavement.

Natures' tempest, with its own truculent power, contends each giant step—

torrid torrents transfluent to the fluent pounding.

Yet each droplet,

each beat,

each step

fades...

until the spirited spurt of a storm with home in its sight

reaches the final

S        T        R         E         T         C        H.