Poems 1

I want to live in the bluff lands
where ghosts of storms
sometimes crash, sometimes tap,
sometimes whisper
	of the jagged waves
	of the ceaseless winds
	of the torn horizon
at my cottage door.







(dregs)

I have cast my net 
	into the sea of dreams
But pulled up only feverish drippings
	limp words clinging to the swollen waves
	breathless without the thick froth of feeling and truth







Look for my soul not in this cave of flesh and bone
I am not there
I am where those eyes wander
To precipice, in wilderness, 
Drawn like a moth to the horizon aflame