damn your flag

names
hanging in nooses
and
faces
all shot to hell

damn your flag.
damn damn damn
your flag.

under a tree

under a tree at midnight
we watch the pedestrian lights
chatter madly to themselves

it is autumn now
and dawn is farther away
than it used to be

o wind
if autumn comes
can winter be far behind?

dear john

fire on the mountain
run boys run
fire on the mountain
run boys run

it smells
like kerosene
a little singed
around the edges
but tinged with exhiliration
and seasoned with a healthy dose
of sea salt.

who was to know, then
of dear john?
or maybe we did;
and maybe
in this fire-play
(and in his water-play)

we briefly stand
before the darkness
that makes memories of us all;

dear john.

fire on the mountain
run boys run
fire on the mountain
run boys run

RIP John. I will always remember you as the person who taught me to canter. And always thankful.

fire mountain