Devil Games

i can be the devil
too-
there is wind about,
wind, wind all about
....and not a breath to breathe
without being here.
so i will play a devil and bend it all.
my words will break and bend and fall
....on all.
do you dare to fear me, to "tell me off?"
will it make me make you better?
can't you escape
too?
we all play him for awhile,
times and sometimes.
we all play the game of games
with winding, windy, scary games.
it's good for us. i guess.

Apart

what can the wind say
that my blood does not already tell me
does it know better the ways of the world
....than the forged cataracts of my body.
if it be outside, apart, unalive from life
a distant terror and gentle friend to imagination alone
my imagination or the one which I am in
then it should not cut God
god of this world
I of it
alone it's witness of witnessing
damn the nasty evil wind
coming unbidden
what does it know about being to one such as me?
if I feel it to me,
what me does feel that which isn't really real?

The Feast of Bridges

About the watered main we trickle round the fringes
of dangerous bridges.
The fish about are hungry and so are we,
We have gone through so much pain
to see it end this way, a crush of thumping rhythmes
and newer beginnings. It is all too much,
much too much for a meal.
Maybe a storm can come to blow it all gone.
There would be a comfort in my forgetting this windy, windy dawn.
Then I might eat my heart and leave this building of bridges.