From the fires comes the soil of independence a revolution of being disconnected resisting the effort to conform just to exist while the street calls for a voice and the paper for a pen desire hopes for the stars to align, discovering the balance under a full moon
Thru all the corners past clothes lines pointing east and west a pocket full of matchbooks badges from towns passed through, never stayed long traveled in open boxcars with men wearing hats cowboy boots faded jeans standing like kings overlooking the land passed over 10,000 streets not one name remembered
It’s the river thick with flow a moving mass of air over motion full of whispers shadowed in the past of me near where street cars pound metal and smoke stacks send signals raining soot in alleys and corners where pain and sweat speak of days of youth once thought never to end where prayers … More IN FULL VIEW
A high heat pushed roadway lines sideways crowds trample the streets pulled toward destinations in a sea of shoulders fire escapes spread waffle slanted shadows onto faded bricks a radio pushes static into an alley garbage cans release the aroma of yesterday young men rolled up sleeves bright buckles black pocket … More EYES OPEN
The alley weary brick lined its surface scarred the aroma of dampness lingering waits expectantly for its fraction of sunlight never enough to heal the sordid lingering air like sidewalks wide streets or parks where children play the alley is the center between buildings holding out for a few angled moments
The streets are me broken chains of thought in the company of whistles and horns a subway below sidewalks of people fishing for space between crosswalks while a guitar and sax play songs for quarters and dimes all beneath a sun and clouds forming shade and shadows as the engine is motion
It was a night short on dreams. Abstract cellophane images without voices. Gauzy waves rising and spilling over. Busy traffic on a street, in a city I might have passed through. The sun begins to set and then rises up again; the gift of an extra day. Words write themselves onto paper, then disappear. Once … More DREAMY
Street lights sign in as dusk resigns to darkness. Scattered shadows of leaves dance on midnight sidewalks. Homes sleep in silence. Dark breezes lift curtain edges, creating life from worn cloth. Porch lights dot the galaxy of streets. Picket fences keep strangers away but ghosts pass through freely. A train whistle, distant yet sharp, bleeds … More MIDNIGHT
He was a life less used. A flower rejecting water. He considers himself a square, surrounded by a circle; room to stretch but never enough to change position. The drumming of his words sway like wheat heads driven by random winds as his words release, explaining the unnecessary. He drums his fingers on … More OPEN HARVEST
STREET VIEW Indifference streaming. Decades of walls. Doors locked. Playgrounds hold the future. Dogs bark at shadows. Every fence leans with weak defense. Overgrown empty lots have no memory. Black suits and hats. Generations of braided hair and faithful prayers. Winsome songs slip to the background. Faces like flowers bloom with smiles. … More STREET VIEW
