Oh lovely city:

your twinkling lights and pulsing

joy over-awe me.

The familiar

voices, faces and gestures

bring sweet memories.

Why is there beauty in blindness

and ugliness in knowledge?

Why is it I can't see the flaws of

my closest friends, while the foibles

of my relatives and enemies are

salient and manifest? Am I so

imperfect? What am I missing?

King of the Snow Hill

Often Degenerated

Into Bullying.

Five hundred thousand

years will herald completely

badlands' erosion.

There is a feeling of stark terror

that comes from falling headlong.

All of the sudden, I'm moving too

fast; landscape rushes to meet me.

Essentially blind, my body goes cold

and rigid. My blood runs like slush.

I have felt the cold hand of death

wave across my head like a blessing.

Dry concrete lends itself well to

taking traction for granted.

It's when I hydroplane,

or float through slush that

I recognize how very little

I am truly in control.

The wheel turns, by degrees,

and there is no control: slippage.

The edge of panic creeps in

and I overcompensate.

The spinning wheels rev

and bite. I lurch back once again

into complacency.

Desert sky at dusk,

winter shade of indigo;

storms, never forming.

Cohesion of cells.

Unifying principle.

Ashes to ashes?

A barren wasteland,

wind screams over dark gravel,

tears dry on my cheeks.

I cry so hard I choke.

Is this to puke up

those parts which do not feel?

How dare you criticize me?

Your expectations

are ridiculous.

Never mention my

conspicuous omissions:

I'll not mention yours.

How like an arrow she sings!

Deadly, shimmering, shaft

undulating and dancing.

Diana, the precision of your

precession, wandering yet

rhythmic, like the seasonal

migrations of game.

And the slaughter! Such

rich butchery-the night

air pungent with its

metallic tang. (Sticky fur)

And I the husband:

the earth is my garden

and the animals my children.

The wheeling of my crops

an elaborate clockworks.

My plans and recipes are

the result of long and careful

experiment and observation.

I encircle, enfold, and ensnare:

I wait. I am patient as time.

The traps are all set.

Oh, what have we wrought!

My partner, my love?

The pealing bell rolls across the land.

The leafless branches rattle

together in the cutting wind.

Like arthritic fingers they grasp

feebly at the ebbing warmth.

I hurry indoors-winter is unfriendly.