from the mouths of angels voices appeared like bonfires burning from their faces as the last clouds of day melted away their message rose from the edge like a half note of wind it was breath to breath a full measure without error that eternity holds the dreams of the dead
pretender of day product of night sunglasses worn at midnight eyes behind shade painting dark darker eliminating shadows faces move close as words find shelter within the music while night dreams blossom under plastic magnolias
The moon a legend in the sky a face to talk to a light to cry under a beacon for our paths alongside rivers shorelines and late night sidewalks we observe from here at the basement of gravity a beauty that haunts us.
A guitar with a sad sound creates a shadow with a soul a spirit song blending within the air in a room on the second floor overlooking traffic where the usual stick figures battle below within the stream of unremembered faces lacking interest yet directing themselves forward to the store or the corner some returning … More SECOND FLOOR
I’m on my own line there’s no sideways just the only road I know a nameless opening to slip through the green grass on the other side is well past and without flavor to remember and faces forgotten night rest now comes easy
Observing the art casually standing lightly combing her hair the painting shouts out creating a mythical character of many faces without fear a champion of gardens the temptress of storms and mid ocean currents her authority stands on the dust within the tiles beneath her the foundation of the colors drawn from them half a … More TRAPPED
The area between dreams is the thirst of sleepers. They drink in the invisible waiting for troubled angels to produce from silvery darkness a face in the mirror a nameless misfortune or the salt of visions with piercing shadows, and familiar voices; the wrinkles of life not available during the day.
It’s a slow step into cold air; the season twists out a new face. A cat meows at a half moon. Heaven hears the barking of angry dogs. Strands of mist stretch from street lights. Whispers rise from the alley. Window dressings slumber. Libraries welcome closing hours. Rain reduces the burden of clouds. Dead winter … More A LINE DRAWN
The clock of many faces. Wrinkles stretched from time. Destiny swims in the eyes and legacies sweat from hard work. The silence of seconds push the hands into the next hour; no song can comfort the waste of circles within circles. Dawn and dusk feed on one another. Children are the second chance to find … More THIS WAY
Strangers are the archives of mysteries. Sidewalk lies brand them deep; attacked by silent words and hard faces. They are without council. Stepping from the shadows their walk is light and careful when in unwanted parts. They had dreams; stripped away after wounds, fading in horizons of travels. They have no apology, though some regrets. … More WALKING THROUGH