starved rock

I am drifting mist shrouding sacred souls condensing cool on rounded rocks, a blanket for embracing moss hazy fingers who in grasping for the twisted trees plummet instead to churning waters merging my sorrows' songs with loons’ soft and haunting melodies I am the dying shattered tree my red heart laid open, my decay - now marrow for our mother earth the musky redolence in damp disintegrating leaves, my grave - a witness forever to the silhouettes of passing lives I am footfalls barely heard between heartbeats - felt scarcely behind you on the leaf-strewn path dancing in the mist of a waterfall who carved my stone face within each teardrop I am all of these I am the questions you dare not ask your face - that you do not see I am your dead I am forever. Dedicated to: The Illinois. Seeking revenge for a tribal murder the Potawatomi paddled down river to attack the Illinois. The Illinois sought refuge on top of a high rock. They climbed up to the summit of the rock hoping that the Potawatomi would by-pass them on their way southward. Unfortunately, the plan backfired and the Potawatomi surrounded the base. As the Illinois tried to get water by lowering buckets with rope the Potawatomi would cut the ropes or shatter the buckets with their arrows. They also climbed up on top of Devil's Nose and showered them with arrows. As the Illinois grew more desperate, some tried sneaking down, but they were murdered. The rest that were left on top, starved. Since then, the rock has been known as "Starved Rock."

universally speaking

I am nothing

more than words;

(composed in marrow)

meaningless
shapes on
dry pages

every thought
is a prayer

for heaven?
for hell?
I don't know.

engulfed in
unutterable answers

I make love
to darkness

are you more precious
because of your
dying?

- picking, eating, dead flesh
with your iced fingers -

or still precious in spite of it?

do hearts explode
with grief,
or do they hide,
again?

again. and again. and, again.

a man will bury himself
alive,
(I've watched. holding his shovel)
(again)

do you notice
mother earth's dark womb
engulfing you again?

I hate these words.

I hate my words.
again.

I hate.
I hate loving you
again.