HALF NOTE DINER

two steps up and to the right a glass door with a smooth metal handle like a sun dried cotton shirt swings open to a place where strangers and regular’s sit on stools or in booths leaning forward sharing hushed tones while some wait and others accept disappointment as the city outside rushes by

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

IRON STEPS

between irregular smooth surfaces there’s a gray area like the space between butterfly wings, valuable and gifted, delicately curved, bending with motion, rejecting gravity while breaking the bonds of what holds us back

SAY YOU REMEMBER

a shoreline song youthful and free waves of gold over blue umbrella art the beach a canvas of footprints   voices, laughing, calling out   the chance of summer over the shoulder,   a pencil sketch of gray lines,   a song built from day,   a little of the past here in the present

MY BEDROOM

Next door mumbled thoughts leak through cracked plaster into my stale air   fevered dark shades of anger rise like storms born of heat then coldly pass   blinking neon breathing lights flash to the wall soundless and dead   hidden pipes suffer with song like tenors coaxing tears out of the weak

RESTLESS STRENGTH

Needles of streams form rivers; moving water the substance of spare parts a sliding territory under moon and sun.   It’s design is a creative covering of millennial cooperation with pathways to the ocean; a friendship of ancient land and rock.   In season it can become a crown of betrayal connecting briefly with the … More RESTLESS STRENGTH

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.        

ONE TOWN OVER

The other side of shade, on the banks of the unfamiliar, where I am mindful of dust, from towns past, but not from here. It’s a summer loud day, the wind and sky companions, a place some call home, where a sweater is used for warmth or a pillow. A place where houses and main … More ONE TOWN OVER

PASSING BY

I have roads in my pockets. Curves and straightaways own a piece of my steps, as I never look back over a thunderstorm wet shoulder; hats have a way of getting in my way.   I’ll find a coat for winter and shorts for summer. I found a pair of sneakers in Phoenix and some … More PASSING BY