a daisy in the snow

sometimes the universe just hollers into the open spaces in your

being,rattles its massive banging pulse through the holes in your bones.

they click and clack like dice minus a side. and the pull is a tide

calling into small hours between slumber and clarity. the brightness

of heaving fire hanging overhead stitch a dot to dot that your heart

traces in imaginary twine. a fraying thread from here to there. the

world webbed in points made, filed, forgotten. only a scar over the

atmosphere in faded grey stain remains; that sticky shit that whispers

across your eyelids when you try forward motion. i pull out the myriad

of pictures that line the inside of my skin. the wrench it of sounds like

mad crows descending fast, low in a darkened room. they perch on my

head, my shoulders, my arms, lay spindly claw over my toes, until the

weight of a feather is the cold in a stone.i tricked the moon into a

shadowy fullness tonight, stared at her long enough in her robe of

crescent, to coax her dark side to show itself in all its silent promise,

and she cackled. Autumn pushed a want into my mouth, chilled wind

scooping drops of lakefront to cool my neck. i could feel it finger my

loose hair into a lion i had fought to tame beneath memory. fucking

roar knocked me on my ass...pretty sure he had that damn goat roaming

his throat, pipe n'all...but for one unbelievable moment i watched

the background, where a shooting star sailed through my line of sight,

an owl released a trio of rippling howls behind me. the weighty night

shook me into it's belly. and i tripped circles up a slippery rise balancing

past and tomorrow. different faces, challenged choices, and timid affection

all laced in a neat bow of guilt. how are we the gentle one's left standing?

how is a clash of heat, steel, want & flesh a sentence that binds me to a dead

pocket of years? i have done no thing wrong. yet stumble on words i cannot

speak, songs i cannot sing any longer if the listener has anything resembling

a pulse. the box is filling and i want to stretch my limbs and kickout the sides,

bleed the darkness till it explodes violent color and light. i am afraid of my

own voice so say no thing at all. silence wrapped in pretty sentences...

ladders of letters that shake, and fall wherever your eyes wish them to lay.

rake your sight through my guts, if you want to...hell i'll even let you wipe

your shit stained feet in my wounds, go ahead, you can have 2003, if you so

choose. thing is you don't know shit about me, or mine, or that the reason i

hold no hand is because it gets fucking cold in the cemetery this time of year.

and you know, most folks sporting steel toed boots, wooly toques and a $14.99

black tube steel flashlight like a billy stick on their belts at 4am don't take

kindly to jean clad girls singing folk songs to ghosts, walking barefoot circles

through the stones they're keeping a peep on. & the owl sailed over the noisy

moon while the lion fed my shoes to the goat in his throat, all the while

the crows were laughing the wild gypsy memory home like a bullet for my

time, fuck a valentine, splintering messy through my roots up and out from

the underground...well fuck you. i want to watch the daisy grow,

and carry her unchained, for a change, to drink from a blue glass glow

pausing to say hello to morning sun, rather then chew her root while i

lay beneath the earth. together we will watch the leaves gem,

and slumber into now...until i forget everyfuckingthing i've ever known...

ollyollyoxenfree.