out of the all most
all way geometric
world is golgatha
waiting in diamond
star shapes to re
form a cubist world
whose heart is all
together where the 
mind should be

     From Every Horizon

easing up over the edge of a slippery earth
    the golden trumpeter of the east sounds the 
        early morning sigh of a new symphony saying
join in with the rest of creation
    pick up your voice, your trumpet and harp
        pick up whatever will sound a smile and
make a joyful noise from every horizon


the preparatory beat
just before the beginning
of the great


journeyman awake arise
dust off your camel and
go to waterless spaces 
in the universe
go to places where 
nothing is even asleep
where no thing is even

the summer season ends now
shepherds and angels sing
gloria in excelsis thinking
there is happiness there
fools then and fools now
adore for just singing or
just for an alleluia

do not slow down when 
shepherds stop tearborne
heavy in the moment of 
believing in nothing

pick up you pace then
pick up your face then
and run open armed to the
new jerusalem beyond the
lightless airless void
of the journeyman himself

Poems 7


             The Bride

take browns and blacks and whites
put them on with a cord around
the waste
of time and energy
think nothing
just play
ask nothing
just give
then there needs to be a father
and a mother
and a hooded brother
for the breath of Real
in the somewhile
loveless careless
wanderings of the Bride


is it proper in a stickfigure world
to draw a heart in the middle 
    of meaningless lines
is it right to clothe the bottom
    of wasteless man
will it turn into hangman
    if flesh is drawn on wooden arms
    and bright colors of life are painted figure on
if no one ever tried
figure if no one ever dared to care
    whether wooden parts
    would ever touch
take the chance and risk
    co-painting flesh tones on 
    figurestruck worlds
even if you are hung
    one blank left
swinging alone on the 
gibbet of 

Thomas Luter