Soul Whisperer

 In the violet  
of sleep
  my water-boarded
                             soul
                                  plunges,
struggles to        breath.
Demented on      
                   Xanax
Thrash, crash,
               and burn...
   Violet dreams turn to
                   dark in
Diminishing return.


In the violet
of sleep
     I throw rocks
at the fucking     Firestorm.
  Convection of
         Pyroclastic
  flows feeding
the no-exit pain  
 oven of my lungs.
A wilting soul,
                drowning,
       irredeemable.
No nickle  back     for this
      empty
               bottle.

In the violet sleep
I look up, and
          She approaches.
A  
       m y s t
  carried on
Pegasus back.
       

My    soul whisperer
Breathes.
   As  two tin cans on a string.
As  she speaks to me
                             and I sing.

 I feel her.
      Her tremors drawn tight
on taut fibers,
     and taught heart.


     The Tiger Lily
purrs at me.
  Low rumbles
      of love hypnotic.
Gentling a
dis    jointed   soul,
hyper              extended.


  Her tuning fork
reverberates on the string .
 Drawing out of my
     nephesh,
Passion purloined.

My Soul whisperer
      knows  
My disquieting thoughts;
How they roil like the
Whitewaters    of the
   Androscoggin after
             spring rains.


She bridges my
  river of dreams
       leading me
           by the string
of the cans;
  one can to my ear,
     one can  to her mouth.

And she breaths:
And I hear,
And I calm,

The tempest heart
  inside stills
like a smooth-as-glass
  pond.