It’s a long whistle putting the hand on men and women as the earth tilts pulling them past open wooden doors into the maze of machinery where generations stood and counted hours and years until the next bodies of youth replaced names on lockers and punch clock numbers as the work produced exceeded the quality … More MACHINE SHOP
There are mountains to behold some soft others of granite messages hidden within the folds of clouds some open doors worth forgetting closed ones we forgot to open a watershed of voices replaced by empty chairs by those passing to the other side we celebrated their life favoring the moments while looking … More LOOKING INTO
There are clouds familiar ones maybe the one overhead right now listening to broken hearts watching feet run away witnessing the moods of souls the arrows of words up and tears shed falling down the cloud, maybe this one has heard it all extending an empathetic extension of itself absorbing the pain folding … More UP THERE
There was a lifting of dreams, a rising of hope an overreach of memories. he was a velvet hitchhiker searching for relief. secret angels touch the soul of his shoulder guiding him away from creative misfortune he stands to the right of his shadow. as he witnesses the good within uncertain eyes. … More ONE STEP PAST
At the end of the earth there’s a diving board where grieving souls and soiled hands search for security and a higher calling there comes a realization there are no road signs or directions but the hope there’s a safety net after the jump
A song of night the slow creep of cars heading for the next town and wayside roads where broken hearts gather at an empty desert gas station someone reads “The Howl” out loud the fear and dreams we live up to bus driver’s work the road curious eyes imagine the release of … More CRESTED LIZARD
A low rumbling a quiet menace brooding on the horizon a language of sounds ominous clouds above the reach of man evil markings retire day’s shadows relinquishing serene space to a greater force heavy weather reflects in eyes gazing upward rain presses onto the souls of mortals.
wet footsteps on the floor cotton clouds the magic of music handcuffs the soul providing anywhere travel with eyes closed the heart steers without disappointment onto a wide porch waiting for sunset lightening bugs send signals to the fortunate the best place to be is the one they dream of
There was a narrow reason to mourn a cerebral molting spread over partly framed orderly opinions he was a recluse of twisted dreams pure with talent a personal connection to the souls of interest within his circle he formed a texture of words weaving clouds into reality rain washed him, arms … More WARHOL GONE
A generation of beginnings the waters of creation wrung from opening souls like coded scripture, a blossoming without restriction deeply rooted without withdrawing perusing the work accepting success never yielding breaking from common people endurance and strength the need to share the heart to open the chance to improve.