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.