20 years into this century
and the West burns,

the land inflamed, unceasing.

It burns in the forests
and the fields,
it burns in the streets,
with fires small and great
all stretching out for the same air,
all feasting upon the same oxygen.

But empires thus
are built of bone
and of sweat,

and within the elements
of things closest to our hearts,
from the private
to the pestilent,
we wait
and we watch
with dilated eyes
the assault and decay.

To breathe! Only to breathe…

The body has a finite amount of blood.
The mind can only take so much.

They will not stop, you see.
They will never


This is the desolation.

Oh rise now the midnight daughter,
oh rise now the twilight son;
keep your blades sharp,
your torches dry,
your eyes up.

Under the roaming haze
under a descending sun;
late now, the domain of summer,
and the long dark

There is but one bastion,
one shield,
one bulwark,
one fire in the night:

hold fast thy memory,
thy faith,
thy hope
and thy love.

You know
in your deep-heart
what is right.

All else is anathema,
all else is so much dust,
for there are no spells
with which to resurrect the dead.

In Memoriam: Patrick H Lee



I get older, and if I walk after sitting for too long,

my knee sings a funeral song.

I’ve lost weight, because I eat less,

and I am more often a warrior in dreams

than a winged being.

I want to go deeper than the spot where Newton shakes his head in frustration.

I want to travel to the collapse of the wave function,

let my mind dissipate and moonwalk backwards…

I remember how it was cloudy gray yesterday.

I buy water at a gas station, and now am walking south.

The wind cries and howls over the mouth of my bottle-

it might be the echo lamentations of an old spirit who was trapped inside,

or I may have drunk him already.