In The Valley Of The Shun

In the valley of shun,
Action has begun.

Forgotten, all your tenses,
Past, present and future,
Gone, here and undone.

Let go,
Thinking pain into being.

I thought I knew enough of history,
Until I found that love rhymes often too,
When I found love rhyming all by itself,
In the valley of shun,
Somewhere between Chicago and Tupelo.

Our Fires and flood,
Riddling
Action
Elation
Insertion
Masturbation
Function
Sacred unction of
Lip licking laces tight on blue,
And her red.

Walk with me under my sun.
Forget the rains that finds your face
These often hours.

Forget the way to death.
It will never catch us but by
Our backsides,
As long as we choose forward,
Forehand
Forearm
Foretell
Forsooth
Fountain.

When we become so tired,
We lose track of the moment’s time,
We endanger the thrill of choosing our course,
And of course, we still will find some way to fly,
Because the birds that don’t, too simply die.

The cold side of life fears only our shun,
Our lovetion
Our dreamtion
Our painted inspiration
Our breathy secret inseparable
Whispering in the black,
Our perfect warm darkness
That needs no definition of dawn,
Vouchsafes no dusky remarks,
But lives only with the darling moon
Beyond the traveling shadow of our wings’ burning.

Die with me this way,
Some far off day,
In the valley of fairytales,
Found in breakfast joints after noon,
In six packs with a
“Good Morning!”
Dear friends,
In nightsome hours around our table,
Denying regrets and Tomorrow.



And little Mike says,
“I’ll see you on the chessboard
Or I’ll call you in a bit.”

And with such bites,
That’s how everything touches us,
During these days of winter longing for sleep,
Speaking Spring
Back to life.