Wind From Nowhere

There exist
That are
only by
And opportunity
And are
Only by
These beings
Are erosive
From nowhere

Bear 12.17.2018


Stars Out Of Season


Stuck tight between
The hard place
And the rock,
There is no way out.
What folly,
What naive faith,
Placed me here?
There is no water.
There is no warmth.
There are no trees,
No voices, no birds,
Just the rock,
And the hard place,
Rubbing away
My skin,
Crushing my ribs,
If I dare breathe,
Or speak.
I can roll my eyes,
And conjure
Bitter jokes.
I can look up
To see the stars.
So deeply wedged
Am I that the
Sky seems
Always night.
I see the stars
Out of season.
Though I weary,
And I close
My eyes,
I call myself
Blessed by this
Gifted view of
Daytime stars.

Bear 11/25/2018

Heavy, The Air

Heavy, the air.
Weary, the trees
Whisper their despair.
Invading miasma
Of crawling dreams,
Drifts, dense
With unremembered songs.
Heat oppressed,
Unseen Loa cry.
Intensely sweet
Their unheard wails
Are entwined,
In blue mist.
Eerie soup flows,
Thick with voiceless
Voices filling
Unrequited voids,
Empty of regard.
Leaves droop,
August 14, 2018
Bear ©Bearspswprint2018