the spirit of the sailor and his storm

you our hard hitter

you our kindest eyes

braided moss babies

with your hard hitting ways

and your babies,oh that smile

if you planted me in the garden

you forget that i need water

and  you watch my rivers or veins quite closely.

the damn that filled up with serpent water.

green as the moss that birthed her

out of a womb of green gutted ghost

the pleasure is all mine you evil,prawn.

Guilty grey haired foxes

eating up sticks and deer bones

with your torso the tyrant

i never asked for love,so don't lay that way. 

retreating back to your

callus ways

tugging at your back we are eating

one hundred pockets deep

our outrage us this whole thing

never seeing the invisible

what is beating

what is wanting

what is haunting

what is dying

what is hungry

with eyes so yellow

with heros so little

i swore you in

to soon

the monastery recommend the wrong guy

and now were eating moss for super

once again.

you our soft kisser

with a mouth of flowers

and gold

with the hands of some painter

capturing all the wrong souls

you who grab me

by the neck

as a fawn reaches her death

her knees;
the break,the wonders,the fearfull bow to your grand ways.

spirit has your crown in hand

spirit in our fragile forrest

spirit is eating all the new moss babies

spirit is knitting you a song

spirit is asking why you wont chant and chase

fires like you used to

spirit on the ship

spirit of the storm

spirit of the sailor

spirit of the lighting

spirit on the bottom of the sea

spirit sunk
spirit of the sand

spirit mermaid

spirit of her gold

spirit of the dead

spirit of the mourning

spirit rise up,release our old.

our kindest eyes gentleman spirit.

hauntings on top of haunts

the spirit and the spoke.