The Truth of First Light

the pull of sleep

loses its hold

when the dawn

first light offers

to burn off the cold

the sweet dew chill

little sought

but for the take

a just reward

for being awake

catching the sky

blue for the right eyes

to set our hopeful gaze

and have adventure

before the heated haze

like the hunter

who sacrificed the night

this is the moment

arrived with first light

A Cold Forest Lament

the woods play tricks

and leave the weary

to walk home aching,

tiring with each step,

mired in a vulture’s quiet

boundary and man breaker,

jester and solemn teacher,

the land reflects

the mind of the hunter:

sometimes mad,

but always hungry

Shadow Zen of the Misfit Drones

better to stay a secret

in our own universe

riding hobo rails

or trout fishing across time

dodging train yard cops

and Kodiak bears

being free to fail

or be devoured

in the wild

or overdose

on lollygagging poetry

and ecumenical oddity

such a better end

than succumb

to those

landlocked sharks

that chew away our time

branded

in sterile horror

we’ll show them our masks

—a wink and a nod—

and turn back to the real work

of salvaging our own souls

Victory of the Walkabout Tribe

A time to gaze

To let the mind graze

Walk to an anthem

Heard only by you

To watch dreams being dreamed

And to dream your own too

With future rejoicings

Overheard from within

The Walkabout Tribe

Will make you their kin

Through flush summer heat

Or steel-winter cold

These starry-eyed dreamers

Shall never grow old