words. music. randomness. life.
For those who enjoy meditative piano…
We’ve all, at some well-remembered time in our lives, had a heart condition that came close to killing us…
The toil and over-turned earth of it, for but a dearth of believable dreams.
Through the muck and the mud and the mirage of pyrite…
Against all my heart has loved I hold a difference and a debt
she slapped him
Strange does fit the recluse, dresses up a bit the riddle of it.
I’m gonna move it a millionth-mile…
There’s right; there’s wrong.
Not all fights are with fists.
He slunk as he whispered it: “Don’t do this.”
But you’re another, and war I’ve no hope but not to wield.
“There is something about this picture,” she penned…
No legend came by it ignobly
It was a rickety rack and a rook at risk, all chess to be checkmated, I swear.
No man is an island, though he designs to be.
Not for the forethought of it
For the chance, his chin took it
New music: Kibo’s Dream
Give me the prick of suffering, then.
Like pines that chase the fawn.
A high five-ku
Are clouds good for skipping stones? I’d like to know…
Circle the wagons: the bonfire burns.
Your salted instance, a glinting bastion.
I let them go. I flail them in.
Stay the hell away from why.
It starved me then. So I ate from it twice.
To hold a naked note at your trembling waist…
Maybe you’ve never seen a man lose his hope in the smoke…
Let me be…more than that bitter-root wine.
Maybe it doesn’t matter if you do right.
Leave me to live on your ceiling and, between us, well enough alone.
Happiness, I swear…
I fought four decades of demons to be sought, bloodied-over…
To what sunset should I sweat-lay the rail?
Jazzy Lou would be a song
the gulls would sing…
It rhymes its rack-and-ruin rise to the hope in my glacé eyes.
The Drive (Updated Audio)
You…pulled the breath from my lungs.
Read me with a genuine desire to see me.
Show me the stone that sings your melody…