The Surgeon

How is it then

to choose to live anew

and so severed must your world of now become?

I am no surgeon

but I stitch

pieces I know to be true

into the whole-new

(dripped in my own blood)

where harm is removed.

The whole-new

out through existence being

becomes the surgeon –

the felt bestowed a tool to carve

the harmonies of the heart.

How is it thus that worlds are severed

so that new ones may emerge.

Hearts of Love Forgotten

We walk and

we talk and

we cycle and

we flock


after months where we rested and

we waited and

we laid and

we missed.


Suddenly emerge and

we gather and

we bud;

ready to embrace and

to kiss one another and

to dance in the day and

in the night.


Forth with all the color and

the light and

coming thunder as

our hearts of love forgotten

to the early rays besotten

lustily we offer.