Cut me open, bleed me dry 

A knife not a tool, a liberator

There is the forgiving woman with sorrow

Deep in those eyes, to a place 

I am oh so unfamiliar with

There are places you know, you see

It is the dark holding our sparks 

A flock of deft touches and harmony

Yet the pulse of the thunder rolls over

Sparks scattered, hidden or gone 

You will never, never...

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reason vaporizes
like a spring frost,
and we must find accounts
within,

but if we do a deliberate search
for the dense Forget-me-not,
its purple presence
shows us

see ten-thousand suns staring up
from verdant grass-
hazard a gatherer's angry buzz,

--pick one
its scent powders your nose
with stardust
sharp as a lion's tooth

the bouquet of our beginnings
cracks us up wit...

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