The sunlit prow---
The vineyards splits---
absorbing rays of castings.
Hope down on it's kneecaps
woven bones--
Its fine with me---
If your skeletal frame coludes
to hew a supplanted hem---
Life is over for me, or perhaps
it has yet to begin,
but this landslide I've been in
makes me wish it was not winter
all over again.
Mounds of snow---
in my front yard, with nowhere to
go--- forever.
Oh how I hope I've
interpruted your smile---
That smile could make me weak in my disasterous knees.
That song is gone
and so goes you too.
Sometimes I see my blood
all over your hands.
Will I still be wanting
to understand
as the years go by?