Lines for December

. . . .not quite outside of every morning
the times beyond tomorrow just a passing element,
someone called a nightmare from where it used to stay jimmied up from far outside this coil,
rode hard and put up wet and unfed, but thought to
close it afterwhile and no one saw the scene unfold,
the purple moon was riding high throughout the
mortal mind and spirit winds, those kamikazes of
the soul, sung lofty tunes before altar of the speeding
fiery sun, before the moving fingers scratched out
the lilting lines that seem to strangely slide aloud into meaning but like a bad winter,it will spill into a spring morning anew with childhoods dreams. . .

December 2003