Don't Panic

   I can help you to hear the green fire, in
laboratory explosions of sweet melodic chaos
That singe and weld thoughts
into conglomerations of introspection.
A flame and void picture that feeds on all
Until all that is left is quiet understanding.

I will give you my music

   And carve out for you log cabins in the wilderness
where predators run free on legs made of wind
A gift of a blade,  when necessary
Severs dangers of a willingness to assimilate.
Like I do, harness the maelstrom
Heron-spread on thermals rising from all-a-chordance.
Finding patterns in a hurricane of miscellaneous bleached bones

And should the wolves close in
I will give you my music
As in an epicenter
of beautiful order, slivering oxygen
Into strands of living poetry
leaving trails in the marrow of empty space, and

I hope you see


Nothing you can't handle
When you make of yourself the flame