Silent silver ships pass through the clouds while here below the twilight shrouds the streets where children run astray 'til strangers cross the path and play the endgame.

Look into my eyes
These are strange and unique things, as long as memory persists--
She died, tangled in a burning rose bush, and he with his
tongue cut out, victims of curiosity and unbidden, evil thoughts.
Deep in the woods, he saw an owl, possibly, or a strange bird
which came closer and appeared to suddenly speak out loud. When
he recovered from the shock he was back at home, sitting in a porch
swing, and could remember nothing more.

Out of the black water of the quarry a body was recovered, dragged
through red dust and thrashed with sapling limbs in futile search for signs of life.

A headless snake will twitch until sundown.

Contempt for philosophy is ubiquitous and easy while bombs do not fall. Stay for a while, linger in the style of a misfit princess, gloved in the neon pink of perfection, thrust in the eyes of wealth and rejection, cast in the seas of emotion and the empty promises of dreams not your own, not yours, never yours... while your whole life flashes before your eyes, the steps you took under starlit skies, the arms that held you close in lies beyond your soul...

The truth is whispered in your dreams alone-- impossible to wait so long-- nothing can be so wrong, only running in the night can feel so right...

Torn, torn to pieces-- torn, torn to pieces-- never, never

Word, lines, flowing rhymes over space, down through time-- tales of rage and war spun by the blind poet recount the dawn of all we know, tale of Ilium, black ships, wine-dark sea, wages of wrath and glory the choice over long life-- all told, the working of the will of Zeus, and none, save only Zeus, is free.

Fire the city, raze the temple, flee to Rome and the land of the Angels.

To go further, past the last settlements and human dwellings there is only barren land, with feathers falling from cold skies as the sun circles the horizon, neither to rise nor set... the saints, it is said, traveled far...

Wood, metal, candle wax, and elements shaped by fire-- luxuries foretold by singing prophets and fey children who see spirits. You can hear them singing The Angel Song as trains roll past.

All these faces, scattered voices, strange expressions, wasted choices roll them over... never daring to awaken stark and staring, long past caring...

Celebrations, cheering, complications clearing, indications fearing-- snorting, stamping bulls and horses-- watchfires, torches...

Children of the future will spit on your graves-- here is why your breath is wasted. Taste the wine.

There is no place for hiding, spilling curses we go riding past the towns, the barns, the churches, toward the rolling sighing sea-- the heat and darkness smothers all the candles lit for lovers while the summer lightning dances like a flame... for you and me, there is time
angels dancing in the rain
there is time
angels dancing in the rain
Look behind
We won't pass this way again

Swords will cross
Ships will sail
Vagabonds roam down this trail
Seeking gold and finding ghosts
Abandoned wells
Shipwrecked coasts

Fevers, crossroads, fish net weavers, native tongues and and spearheads point the way through signs and omens toward the lands of legends. No one goes there. No one understands the runes and glyphs and symbols etched in rocky wastes. Once, perhaps, there was a kingdom, rule of law and paths of trade. Now you see only mystery, and they say the people are no better than animals. Cannibals, maybe, driven to madness by famine and sorcery. Witch doctors, priests, we don't know what they are. We don't know what's down that road. We don't go down there. They say they're in the trees.

One moment, the war has ended. The next, it seems, we've crossed over into a place of shadows. The story is the god of thieves sleeps in this narrow pit, and sometimes the bones of children are found there.