By yet darker shadows
flurrying the winter sky
pounding the broken air 
bending the follicles of space 

Into a subtle rhapsody 
which charms the vast lonely
dance skipping through the rails
of light into the vastness of being

Spinning the known sky 
to a shimmering clarion cry
shouting ancient harmonies 
grinding the wheels of the cosmos

Bringing for a flash 
the glory of a glimpse
at the power of the storm 
churning beneath our feeble eyes

and eat the fucking 
turkey once each year
as the clock rings

and we all sing
anthems of glory
while we rattle the

shattering doors 
of what now must be done
beyond the tilted glass

and the loaded plate
where the malignant 
truth lies buried

in the lonely lines
of the sad preamble 
to the ugly fall which

double-times to the 
end in full sight
of a heavy crunch.

Where flights of wingless beasts
cavorting in the muddled ether
amid villeins and earls fallen prey
to the vanishing morning glow
and the sheen of ugly laughter

Where the pace of the night stalkers
rambling among the fallen goons
gleaning the husk and forgotten grain 
while the croaking crows and 
screaming eagles soaring above

Choose a life riding the fetid thermals 
swooping to the carnage at hand
savaging with cheerful abandon
the reapers and crippled squatters 
hidden carelessly in the dank earth

In the mobbed up caves and ruins
fallen hamlets of charmless squalor 
shackled tight to the world of shadow
the slow night fires of grainy illusion
the dwindling light of the fallen day.

We must hereby answer 
the righteous entreaties 
pilling like lake effect snow
in the halls on the streets

On the shores of the seas
where the shot once fired
round the world has finally
returned to fester among

Sad and hopeless outcasts
grubbing griping and dying
on broken concrete oaths
now smashed by the tyrant

Who churns and burns
at will the iron clad fealty
chartered long ago by
visionaries and prophets

Who founded in blood the
revolutionary rights of man
when it was deemed much more
than an enlightened exercise

Muttered darkly among
desperate men drawing 
the sword to strike down the 
fading king of a dying world.

turning finally to the east
where the wind hacks hard
into my creased and cracked face

until I must bow my ancient head
before the howling gale bearing 
down upon the path I so blithely tread

an ugly vortex of splintered
lies and deceptions twisting the way
before my blurred tearing eyes

grinding leaf stick and branch
pebble rock and boulder to an 
unlikely stew boiling to nothing

shards and sharp splinters
of failed schemes and plots
brought about by the damned

and nurtured by fools.

maybe; 
but fuck them,
those guys didn't

even like each other.

It seems a bit like hunting
with guys who can't load,
much less shoot;

you wanna kept 'em close, 
way in sight, with plenty of light,
with no chance to kill you.

In the withering Fall
The storms of
Winter rising
We shelter 
Where we can

Form yields to 
fancy
tilt has ground the 
moon

Into the glories of 
november where
the colors collapse 
into 

The just pits 
of venial sins
and past betrayals 
unless

You’ve gone 
too far
and then of 
course 

You are beyond 
hope
and should 
surrender

Before the 
brutal cold
closes in for 
real

When the 
fall stumbles into
something like 
winter

Revenge where the real
idea should be to bring glory
once again to lost saddened 
scribbled over shouted down and un-sung

Elegance where the ditch
overloaded now topped off 
with the grim detritus of fat free
hallelujah screaming dancers

In multi-colored holy underwear
passing snarling false vipers
to terrified but willing parishioners
squatting on filthy lonely floors

Elegance which will bring about
a new and powerful nation
on the wings of a resurrected
flock of snow white doves