arrive to clarity

the deepness in an afternoon

what is sadness,

sometimes women

sometimes men

sometimes friendship

this is a guarded form

these are guarded things

open things - drift

on a narrow road

a storm approaches

to the distance see

A flock of children, flying

between the lightning

a paradise,

& sometimes our own trouble

makes us sad

the nature all around us

making love in hidden moans.

the desperate truth of youth

brings golden wishes

to those who open hands

where dreams are handed down

by the tempers of older dreamers,

the dying petals about to harden

let the wounds scab / scars

for later running fingers,

for procession

my head hurts

my hand shakes

there's a holy place about half a mile up the street

its where i threw up,

just from breathing

don't imagine the end

hear your feet walking

& its alright.