I'm rather hungry,
I just got some sleep.
dawn is creeping in.
lingering smoke tastes pleasant
on my teeth,
but, I better drown it out with listerine,
then find something to eat.

I'm up and about.

I pace,
with a bowl of lucky charms,
uncertain,
until I see
through the window,
over the sink,
clouds gather in the north.

the sun not yet risen,
but here is
the hard breeze.
a storm's oncoming majesty.
my lord, my god,
dear.

then I remember,
the strange things that scratch at doors,
outside the kitchen,
are waiting for me.

searching, slovenous creatures,
they are.
and always there
and always ravenous
in their hunger
for us.

from depths
solid as stone,
were formed
those cold
huntsmen and their hounds.
Lifted from the soil,
along with other certainties,
by forces, willful
and unseen.

their type doesn't bother me,
anymore.
this lovely disease
took away all my fear,
all my subtleties.
no filler, no pulp,
left in me.

I sip my orange juice and
it sinks through to the gut.
and on me is man,
and in me is a soul,
small, bright and tangible,
spinning and flashing
like a reel,
revealing shots
of bountiful harvest fields
and green spring hills
and love that is deathless
and clings to everything
that breathes or is breathed upon,
that bleeds or is bled upon.

and I feel the soul in me,
latched and tangled
to a tough and ticking heart.
and I feel it's frailty,
though it survives,
surrounded by stark white,
pitchforked ribs.

my loved ones
once worried
all my ambition was lost,
when in truth,
I've just gained honest thought.
I'm human,
nothing more, I see.
Its enough,
when you just let yourself be.

now I see we're all just thinking, falling stars.
all is created and lost.
with every passing moment, death
and rebirth.
when we die,
ruder forms
form from our sacred skin,
and growth begins again.

you won't hear a high scream from me,
when those hounds burst through
and start to chew.

I know what is,
I know what's needed,
it's all fine with me,
unless it isn't.

I'm just a northern son,
born of knowing, earthy men.
mind filled with strange songs and
old words,
back broken and bronzed
for the right cause,
under the right sun
(it's the only one).

I'm done waiting to be defined.

I'm just a student,
(but who isn't)
I'm just a lonely boy
(but we're all
lonely and young,
compared to the rock and dirt
from which we come).

take comfort, take rest, I tell myself,
as the hounds beat down the door,
what's the need to worry for?
we'll deal with the inevitable as it comes
at our throats.
accept it all and let it go.
and if we live
another moment,
we'll walk outside and know
there is nothing to exist for.
it's all in the act,
that's all the purpose needed.

at least that's how it's seems to me.
and what other motto can make me breath?
how else can I start to describe
the coming,
the beginning,
the ending,
the living of life,
other than "suddenly"?

anyway,
I am sure
I'm unsure.
so, now,
while its calm,
I pet my lovely dog,
who has woken with me,
and laps at tap water
from her plastic bowl
on the linoleum floor.

she was born,
with unwavering devotion to god.
she wanders the wood
and feels the world,
eats her fill
and feeds her young,
living with indifference to the huntsman
she knows will soon come.

See her now,
she lifts her nose and sniffs,
and feels the storm
rising over the ridge.

see her reaction.
she is moved by more than fear.

soon the world we know,
will be dead
and from its ashes rise
a world where clear light
and fire
fall from the sky
and creeks will spill over their banks,
as the wind howls
like a song
(hear it now),
and water everywhere,
watering all
exposed things,

and even the trees
will fall to their knees
in reluctant prayer.