((A Game of Chess))

The Pawns were woodchips,
The Castles were stones,
The Knights were bits of torn paper,

The Bishops were leaves,
The Queens dark eves,
And Kings the cauldrons of fire.

The tide of battle ebbed and flowed
And we played the game
By the light of our cell phones.

((Pitch to Ghost))

If you lived four thousand years
Would a flower growing
Look the same way
As it does to you now?

Would the growth
not appear as
an explosion
of earth and
color?

Imagine watching builders construct
a building in your town.
The only difference being
that you have thousands
more years to live.

The building would morph into shape
like molten lava from a big soil
made of beams, rods
concrete, glass, and
human plans.

The sky would change color rapidly from
Blue to Grey to Black.
And try to see with me what
this situation would really mean
to a person like
you or me.

Think of the new sunsets
like you think of
the small, granular
fannings of full-colored
light that radiate
from metal surfaces.

Forming tightly and disappating as a pulse,
the collections would float in
the sequenced marquee
of Blue and Grey and Black,
All among clouds
That move like
Water in the sky.

Now extend your lifetime into eternity
And watch this happen all at once.
Look at the brilliance of this picture.

((Ride the Spiral))

My nightmares
Are like this:
I plan
Planning, the planes stack,
The faces open and close.

The wooden hands
Fall to the ground,
My mind casts around
And meanders into tight corners.

It emerges again
To the moving faces.
They beckon and question
And say that they will.

But they dont,
And they wont.