recycled words from sorrow's lips
replete with thundersnow & wine
darken the corners of this trip
no trace of trumpet vine
ride the north wind
as long as you dare
lashed tight - eyes closed to the chill
push the luck to the shadowlands
and
fist raised to gravity's spill
flying - always the art of kings
poets & blue
land ye soft upon fields of gold
escape lies north of you
