Fable : Money is good, and a girl might be better

a young man in the dark am i

things hid in their marrow-bones

from time long passed, their bodies lay.

daybreak and a candle-end

all men live in suffering

you make me real

i know as few can

fluid

dense

whether they take the upper road

or stay content with the low

you say everything in advance

you spoil the end

fall in love with your children

our abuse, you disclose our fall

you were wrong not to hold your tongue

betrayed

intentions

you spit your nothing into the shadows

you proclaim color,

you can not hide the strings,

the high tower of fear, climbed by noise and clamor

or whisper that man is a fool.

a man had six mortal wounds

violent and famous, walked among the dead

she looked through the tree branches,

she thread the needle and made an ancient rule.

she was driven from home, and left to die in fear

they sang, but did not have human tones

though all was done in common as before

they had changed their ancestors and had the throats of birds.

he thought ::

all i ever wanted was a touch of everything

i sought for it in vain

i sought for it for seven days and seven hours

he loved her in secret

enslaved, they layed under the color :: casual flesh

she stopped him, round, covered and fought the

wisdom of memory and found herself never looking very far.

written at home

inspired by the music of icebird (i'm green :: 2011 abandoned lullaby)

and poetry of William B. Yeats (1936-39)