To the corners of the four winds…

where the winds meet and howl,

and whisper… and breezy light

to tempest storm and disharmony

wrought by man’s unrepentant tears…

the space of continuum…

to feel the flow and ebb of here

and now, rattled, reluctant to see

this change perceived as coming

and yet… un-resigned, unconvinced

beyond the touch of skin to linger

near, the newest hangover to regret,

the abandon of morals to care for

nothing more than this, and even the

elements would share in this grief

of longing too shallow of a grave,

they have no need for depth as they

did in the past, head stones and crosses

are all protested these days… lay tags,

to be scanned like the tags in ammo

to be found under the microscope…

so little to think of life these days-

but to the sensations we blow like

the wind, a hot breeze felt from hell.