a flower deep in the valley

wine stained lips rush for rain;
trees growin' in gutters
morning glories climbing the beans.

fat bone fingers scrapping thru her gardens interlopers
a stain ,so natural in the center
something so personal;
the blue boogie in the nothingness of the event horizon,
everything collapses
into a breath.

the night sky and its travelling moon shower light
across the dew soaked new grass;
baptizing bare feet, their rustle rules the sound of darkness.

like spots on leopards, sun on rivers dancing
in the heavy-metal free rain.
children giggle thru possibilities of lost rail promises:
wine puddle memories, searching for excuses...
bruises on cotton calves,
and the idea of daddy died young on rolling knees
and heels,that dug too far in the mud,
and butterflies stuck in her mouth
and the dirty stained fingers with the stench of thyme,
almost trembling

toes mingle as tongues let loose
geckos wiggle in the river beds
legs up skin ripped apart
tawny from decay -dead
dead
deer lay decapitated
head near by, old crow
corn beak pecks at the eyes.
the scent, rotting flesh carried through rose thickets
transforming the wind;
sour to sweet...

the wanderer pauses, feet sinking
in the moment,
wondering if this deception will ground the winds roving ways.
sweet to sour
and in bitter rain

petals bathe in mud to disguise their beauty-
irony contracts and signifies
the horror of irrelevance.
as temperance challenges the integrity of the wall,
condensation honors the folds...
(her lips) as sweat eases the sweet immortal
melon of death and penetrates our weathered skin of mortality.

salvaging for scraps of an other amongst the pedals
and toys
and toil of her seeds.

amongst the dreams of many
and the cherished soften;
the moon now comes to collect her children.