How to regenerate a heart

How to regenerate a heart

Shall I wait

until the science of cells can heal the heart?

And hope that it is the nest of the soul and all the pain it contains will be waiting in the spring for a family reunion,;

Shall I wait

until the Red Seas part.? The peace of the wise.? The cornacopic apple-cart.?

 Re-seed the dawn with a myriad of clouds. Re-bloom the lustrous lawn with the monolithic shrouds of dust and whisperous mysts?

The purple rose has re-hatched from the serpent’s elliptical sphere.  Here, here!  My lust has found a grove of green, and a lake of waters clear.

Hate and remorse the catalyst to love’s white gloves; Communion; and on what date shall I wait until?

The world stands still. 

The feeling gels the thought to the eye and mother-of-change is the cage of my last year,

The traveller has gone no-where really,.  Beast enraged has submitted to the Reines of alkaline remorse, which knows no ceiling and it’s course like a river erodes all time.  Implodes all over these lines.

The line of thoughts all lead to the same point of shame; angelic pinholes pierce the flesh with painful truths, dealing bad hands to us human devils as the crows cry and the ravens know why we were born.

Irene’s lap lays empty and sore memories burn burn burn

My Sabbath queen whose rays play penny poker and loses her

turn turn turn

like the Mother of the Moon, the Sister of the Sun, and the Bride of the Galaxy come around too soon

to tell tell tell

what was drawn from the collective wishing well, what die has been caste and what lie has been passed off as truth.

Cyclonic fuse, the rising Kundalini muse. 

Shall I look for the blaze, the chasing fox and running rabbit, the Hermetical haze, the fish and chips craze; I seek the Hermes Triangelic Mead, the course of Thyme, Rosemary, and Rose wine.  I search in the seas, the forested whites, and sea-foamed cleaves between the stones. 

Shall I wait for irate ghosts of goats

that rock the bones of the boats, ceasing to exist

before my mnemonic mode, my memories moan in-between the creaking and clanging of my crying heart, Cynical new start to the year’s tart end. 

Leading hand over hand, bleeding art and I digress, digress do I in this wondrous world of Master and Mistress.  Bending to the winds illusion of reeds, bedding down into tumbleweed sheets and the earths un-end. 

Undress my hopes and bathe my dreams

Undulations of feelings rise and fall like solar beams

bittersweet tones or notes that skip and hop. Incongruous grunts

Roaming groans catching the throat

Swimming in the murky moat of disbelief tasted

Cayenne on a lemon drop.

And shall I wait for elusive harmonics half-remembered like child’s lips on ice creams and lollipops, tasteless now under the stress of the lonely streams, abandoned cannabis crop, wasted

Washed away, washed away, withered memes of family life go untethered into the skies – an expanded sadness sounds like the loons’ cries. 

A ream of balloons go up strong and then die.

The fool casts a circle with papyrus reed, a wand, a roll, a bond, a deed.

Lead-based lead, yellow starry night

Why should I watch the moonlight, the sunrise, if I have no one to shield me from aloneness under the turbulent dome of so many televised lies?  Why should I fight their greed?

Lay that moon down in the dawn’s baby pink

Lay that sun down in mountainous ink

Shall I wait?

Shall I wait?

Shall I wait?

Shall I ?

Wait.