PARK BENCH POET

he sees ghosts and speaks to clouds while sneering menacingly  at people and dogs church bells nearby ring out praise and guilt clouds knit together, breezes circle salvation walks backwards sometimes retrieving the innocent while rejecting the poor

NIGHT BATTLES

the eyes shut from exhaustion, releasing spirits from the darkness to war within, flashing concussive images, angled blinding lights and drums beating in dramatic fashion, anguished rhythms of air from my lungs, far from the innocent shoreline of sleep I once knew

COLD VENGEANCE

its where the pavement ends and road signs are shot to death   scattered sickly scrub brush with harpoon needles waits for victims   sweeping lizard tail art marks ancient sand, evidence of survival   everything breathing or searching for water is the appetite of the desert, a soulless vacuum encouraging the line to be … More COLD VENGEANCE

LOST

The desert   a roar of silence   bland colors crooked shapes life absent   an innocent appearance   tempting footsteps and greedy eyes to wander like dust   random inspecting overturning a stone   looking back or was it there it all looks the same   no water no shade   lost