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Hunting The Lions
I. Summer
Needles into the precipice
Volcano mighty and wide bellied
Swallows the cataclysm's future
We cast spears into each other's agonies
The ballet spirals over canyon rustic red sun whirls
Action weighs actors the hours are long
Unreal light sound the viewers catch fire
Hollow basements and high offices
Images lay siege
The terrors of the unfortuned
Become the terrors of entranced
Free men who sit and wait
Tonight the lions hunt anywhere be here we are washed
The leap in faith
Is the walk with the spear down
The foot sure the friends true
Balance amid wide open roaring wheatless fields
The prowl is dancing might
Asserting much destroying more
The task is a footstep away
And another, another the broiling sun
II. Autumn
Dreams fall on sleeping war-weary soldiers
The hush of the night impales the stillness
With memories of dust and the day's hard warring
The breeze is colder now
The sky freezes the drama pauses the old men look up
Asking for a fair week extra the hunt drags
The feet drag the snow flurries camoflages
Gathering night and silence as a cloak
The daggers march wild through silent houses
Finding only sleeping men and women
Barren fields cradling hushed
Dwellings napping
In the shelter of the storm the awakening
Weapons find the storage shelves
Dusty and wait for the felentless
Snows the ceaseless howling
Sit in the darkness sharpening
Their fantasies outside of time
Clutter of half-felt dreams
Spiral away in a whimsey
A flight of forcast startled blackbirds
III. Winter
Wiretap the sucess
Alter bending circles of influence
Corrupt the flow of thought
Our public massed in search
Of butterflies resiliant and deadly
With science with a fine net
Of explanation of words
Deafened to the crackle of
Fine leaves and blacked
To the angry scent often hanging
Shroud over winter white
Eternal fields
Gaps in sight in the knowing's incredible aeons
Where chimeras dandy and entreat
Us to the suffocation of chaos
The cameras go up the stairs
Massed in search for the center
Which eludes the tightrope
Cantors in circle in darkness
Just out of grasp
Spears fly into the night
IV. Spring
Etched in crystal
Quanta all these timeless pathways
Stand poised to change us
Each second we move
They multiply us
Each look glance thought presence
Each pass flash emotion sensation
An army of futures
The trees grow before our eyes
The circles are joined departed rejoined
Guns ready slogans armed flags and premanance
Waving in a frozen wind
We give sex to the sexless we feel the time
Sharp cold glass crystal arching arcing illuminated
Not blue not black etching sillouette flikker
Endless fractal forever green but not green
A pause of boundary's edges a look across
To see the turtles stacked each with
Fine flowers and jasmine incense the
Taste of tangerine accompanying them
As they pause in passing through the fields
