Traffic grinding along
Dirty shack streets of
My hand speaks
the motion of lips
Locked in silence and security.
One slip to fall
in the abyss of lookout valleys
where buzzards keep meat
content with pickin off dead martyrs.
The color of blood is universal
Smiles and memory
Swaying hearts and minds
Marked by the white hand of death
Silent weapons called music and dancing
Spring spirits from unmarked graves.
Dogs are barking out
The spell of night
Imprisoned songs penetrate
Steel bars shaped like flowers
Hold voices back
Echoing cages over windows.
The sweet breath of song
Rings in unison
With the underground passages.
Conciousness inhibiting dreams
Dreams ride up in black Jeep Cherokees
Fortune giving light
Bodies waving through their
Field of vision.
I am serenaded by sentries
The seed of greed passes on the wind
Landing in a furrow and sprouting
Far above the dark earth
Seed becomes leaf
Leaf enquires to the wind
Around the tracks of the evening
Clothed in fog
We wrap ourselves in a shroud of memories.
The seed becomes real in the speech of poetic days.
The day watches like a crow for
Dogs of intelligence.
Hammers return to dust and sand.
New growth like corn
Mingles with jungle bravado angels
Stark faces serious in the wind
As much as the spirit can endure.
This zone commands a red rose
Blooms incarnate blossom bending
Like the young stalk of a child
Wrapped in liberation.