AWAKE

the roar of blood keeps the skin from sleeping   while spirits speak the language of awake and night dreams are absorbed into the flash of neon messages directly from the mouths of angels speaking of the everlasting though even they fail to fully understand   while half notes and unanswered prayers drip like a … More AWAKE

THREE LEAF CLOVER

flames of messages   hand prints speaking from the wall   about a life walk down narrow alleys past back doors loves left behind storms and sun sleepless nights trials and errors   while searching for a destiny above the scatter leaning toward the shape of how it is to be   greater than the … More THREE LEAF CLOVER

NIGHT REST

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

WITHIN THIS

An unseasonable difference the bouquet of destiny crowded within the magic of sleep the region between unknown footsteps unsure voices while the fullness of gravity prevents the ability for touch   this unexplained element of drama remains bazaar where particles of words raise the curtain on another morning  

FALLING THROUGH

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.        

HALF WAY

It was a dull circle of sleep. A separation where day folds into slumbered haze.  Mumbled half words tumble out.  An occasional roar breaks the silence.  It’s a time between lucid and insanity.  Emptiness and heroism.  A storm of thoughts strike the base of heaven; the soul envies the catacombs of control.   Hours appear … More HALF WAY

EARLY

One in the morning. I stretch, turning off the light. My book falls to the floor. Looking up, a cerulean mist hangs as my eyes adjust. A curtain of black soon covers the room. A diesel truck passes by below. A window shuts in anger. The night stand clock hums out of tune; an electric … More EARLY

FOREVER GONE

A day fills the pages for night dreams. Songs settle into wide branches while lovers speak in whisper language.   Night is blind to evil. The land is filled with stiff gray images.   A jagged twisting wind circles over smooth faces.   Silence holds the greatest of weight under an early sliver of moon. … More FOREVER GONE

PILLOW TALK

Pillows are the footnotes of thoughts, the bubbling of half truths and scattered sticks of wisdom, expressed without order in the night of a room. Pillows are the guardians of words drooled from the chasm of mouths and ejected from cerebral complexities. The warden of speech releases into night swimming dreams, the backlog of anxiety … More PILLOW TALK

BETWEEN THE DRIPS

I can hear the water clock. The liquid metronome of a dripping faucet. A distinct sound muffled into silence during the day of sounds.   On the ceiling, the passing reflections of headlights from passing cars below crawls over the cracked plaster. A blinking neon pulses across the street, matching the faucet drips and then … More BETWEEN THE DRIPS