As he checked into the hotel
The famous Transylvania Bleu
He noticed a face he'd seen before
In the mirror that's facing you

She looked hauntingly familiar
She stared into his eyes
He stared right back at her
With no small surprise

Six foot four and muscles
He had a kind of rugged look
He supposed the lady enamored
And he signed into the book

He turned to scan the crowd
She was nowhere to be found
Then right there at his elbow
When he turned back around

Arm that plays with the wind
'tis mine but feels too free.
Travel light and travel fast;
the window down helps.
City lights and plights;
wish I could outrun myself.
No luck nor dice;
a spiritual rewrite?
No God would mistake
me for a worthy soul.

Maybe this time will be different.

I'm running away
gonna leave the city lights
I'll write about the wind
my mistaken identity lost

I'm following the scent
the smell of the open road
My pages flapping in the breeze
pencil faded from the sunlight

Listen to the music
forgetting who I am
mistaken identity gone
away from the city lights

Don't forget to call me
say my name out loud
Scream into the sky
maybe I'll hear you

Temperate forests sometimes do not breed temperate minds.
It's not easy being green with the incessant
pitter-patter, let's get at 'er that soaks the ground deep.

The land receives the great return;
drinks its fill and lets the rest spill where it will.
Gravity the guide for such things as
rivers become waves in the sea.

And amid dreams of bright blue summers
the grey wetness will cleanse or depress,
by choice or condition, no less.

Blue sky, a minute ago
Fleecy-white clouds
Gentle breezes lifting the hawk
Gliding silently out of sight

Sparrows flicking across a grey vista
Brown little bodies, adjusting constantly
Wagging stubby tails and blurred wings
Making secure nests against the Autumn chill

Birds on the wires, huddled close
Flakes of snow tucking heads under wings
Starlings like darts in the crosswinds
Speeding bullets to warm barns and spilled grain

My sun rises
My Moon falls
Hollow hearts cannot

The seas rock
The Sky sores
Trapped by my ores lock

Trapped by unforgivable light
No reflector for my sender
Everlasting light yet eternal blender

Forever in-sequence
Thy rusts stainless cords
Polar love the moon and the sun

The never-ending seas
Thy un-graspable heart
Denial shall blood flow

I a shady sight
You the sketchy sky
The everlasting cords
Shall never lie

Well, I sleep the nights to myself.
This existence is nothing without you.
This moral coil may as well be dust,
You be the ashes to my smoke,
Isn’t that the same thing?
No, one lives on-
The other ki/lls the first.
I be the (silent) blight.
It -stalks- you in the hour of sun
down.
This green lady of envy tore you a/p/art,
Caught me in its web.
They call me the wicked witch,
But it is you who were the cruel.

Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
That’s a red eye I see?
They call me delirious.
Ha.
The morals are immortal today.
We all live forever, but
the gh~ou~ls more so.
Rows of nothing but ^bats^.
What a sight to see.
They say I’ve lost my
m
i
n
d
Is it me or are we all crazy?

The glamour is fading - not a minor concern.
The spires stand rigid and tight. Porch
cushions can't disguise they're a
mound of dead flies. The scent
of pie is too spoiled to lure.

The House down the lane
is trying so hard to
draw the wary and
keep the scary
inside.

Within
is a hunger
for innocence and
terror. The spirits all
restless and cursed. So angry
at life and the living they abhor,
eating souls is what quenches their thirst.

The tomato plants performed well this summer past.
Fruit given up weeks ago, the dead,
dry stalks are waiting patiently for the pruner.

Now cold, the lake receives a woman wanting
a final baptism before winter comes.
The sweet sting of goose flesh raised in the crisp air.

Canada geese are flying south -- their clarion honks
trigger deep response in those that raise their head.
A chorus of complex emotions ripple out in their wake.