MORNING,

walks the perimeter of fire, beginning    the journey or voyage as wide prairie thoughts walk in without obstruction, self inventing today’s challenge, stirring within a ballad of an open field as you set out until the habit of a faithful evening of stars and moon encourage our rest

ENTER THE GHOSTS

sleep, the back half of what was, leftovers from today, ghosts of the past stepping through an open door without resistance as the sand underneath changes to water, drowning your breath or pushing you from a rooftop sparing your impact, your death, until repeated another night

THE HAND

is a perfect flower opening with morning stretching, reaching, designing moments achieving success fulfilling needs, desires, preparing to create protecting, supporting this day this evening until night when resting dreams stir them without our permission

INSIDE VOICE

the gray of shadow light bending, fragments of words like wrought iron angel wings kneeling within a drizzle of mist surrounding trees shed of leaves, desperate against seasons strength, fail to retain the youth of spring and summers shade the moon rises strong, casting a glance over night

COVER OF DARK

surrounded  by a skeleton of trees   a shudder of wind reveals gravestones of buried souls   scattered ashes and dust of heroes and villains tossed together into a gathering of memories   where wings and whispers sleep along side of unpacked dreams  

THAT WAY

before evening there’s an afternoon asleep   a recipe of gathering, irresponsibility   street corners the city breathes then exhales a boxcar moaning steel   old faces disturbed that youth is wasted as age burns the fire out then points to the past laughing infrequently wondering what’s left   digging into empty pockets   going … More THAT WAY

SERVING TWO MASTERS

we awake under rumpled sheets of thoughts the prison of two ideas   lines dissolve between dreams and the mystery of fragmented images   remembering corner shadows and glimpses of the lost and parts of what is never found as we rise from bed becoming the servant to the master of day  

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

FROM ABOVE

the bones of words remain behind like rumpled sheets without memory of sleep as day tosses a mixed salad of walking and arriving   the hours melt into the water of day   time slows for anxious eyes while rain marks windows and umbrellas below splashing on buses sizzling off neon’s   coats of color … More FROM ABOVE