a poem is a sermon
Alone again or so it seems and yet my street of broken dreams goes on and on. The moon has kissed the sun goodbye and yet hello, a kiss with which to build a dream upon. Childhood wanderings in lands of dragons’ wings and foolish fancy now begin the slow and wondrous journey to the […]
Each day I wake, my head crammed full of dreams that reach into my conscious life unasked, defining how I perceive each new task by tearing at reality’s worn seams. From dawn to dusk they push and pull my mind in strange directions, seeking some release; new tangents form in patterns without cease and with […]
Town: I would to some far-flung county go except for the threat of winter snow and loss of things to occupy these tangent thoughts that fill my mind for in some quiet, rural place where you know every name, and face, behind the greetings and the prayers lurks something else, and it waits there until […]
for W.B. Yeats Some silken strains of angst-encrusted verse or mystic message wrapped in words to woo designed to part the patron from their purse, or charm one’s snakes…what can these small things do? An audience that can be misdirected by such a simple ruse, where is their strength and will to fight against being […]
To wake while reading William Blake to taste of life in dreamlike doses flexing the sinews of the mind in the fight against some status quo that lumbers, like a Clydesdale pair to drag a dying culture’s broken-wheeled cart along the muddy ruts of road built to achieve a purpose travel to the same crowded […]
When I was young I sought to find the furthest reaches of the mind. Now at the edge of the abyss, I find it’s simple things I miss. There is no comfort in the mist that once I found hard to resist. What dreams remain when we grow old determine how our story’s told. The […]
for Tasha talking about america growing old while we watched: between lying and sleeping (during which thrown about like helpless pillows we wrestled our thoughts about each other and pinned them to words) in the ashtray the ghosts of our lips met between us. talking about america going out but not being seen: between sighing […]