By: Joel Schueler

When will you climb
The Mountains of time?
Instead you seldom see
The pallid fathomed glee.
Shape me in your greed
Wise words you say I’ll heed
And carefully pluck away
Any formed debris.
I bent my love to form a thorn
By the melancholic tide,
Its trepidations rose up and captured any light forms…

I Love the Love they show me
And Kristen reminds me of her,
Then
Henceforth you came
From an alley ball and chain,
A wan sacred shred
Of Angel hair’s breadth,
Morphine from your delphinium
Spilled into my vein.