for those

for those

with a notion of setting an eye to

the cobalt expanse 
the wreckage of my endeavors can be found

along the drift track 
bits of it coming ashore to

settle in commune

with bones of

other’s exiled ideals
a freshening breeze may water your gaze as you try to decipher wave from debris 
but don’t idle

for long

on the tide line
it doesn’t matter anymore 
simply

set your own craft

adrift with a prayer
then

turn away
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

slow rain

equity 
falls a slow rain

and cursing at the edge

of the wasteland 

are the desert builders

clearcutters

fearful 

of the coming bloom

would they,

if they could defy the

direction of time,

return to their forbears’

age of struggle

to place a boot on a neck?

with every droplet

that sounds the

gong of progress

their blood rises

blood enriched

with traces

of sharecropper 

of mill hand

of sweatshops and docks

makers of

steel mountains of

asphalt tributaries

backs as bent from

the weight of labor 

as the paranoids are

over their hoard

their axes raised 

but rusting

as 

a slow rain 

continues
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

an old man seeks remedy

I’m going to weird until it feels normal – here longing for mountain frequency- here wanting at least one more vermilion evening – like the one that night before we rode avalanches in opposite directions – flattening everything and everyone as our momentum grew – I’m going to trance until neural activity ranges unfettered – here, another searcher for the final key to the lexicon- aware of the cordial exchange of contingencies that seem to buttress the walls of these ancient and vaulted institutions – in whose shadows we watch from corners of squinted eyes – under whose revered edifices we pass around names and the failings and accomplishments belonging to those names – names shuttled in and out of conversations – remembering only those whose scraps can be snapped up or of those who might be crowding the rungs – I’m going to drift until it trumps focus for good – here where edges need a good feathering – here where surfaces plead for softening 
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

flight as concept delayed

Icarus’ rust-ling feathers

                   flex against

                   wind solar

wind to render

flight ex    

                    it is

                    as accidental

exits go

one for genetics

                    grafting

                    new generation

to be one

gravity 
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead