words. music. randomness. life.
an old memory ripping…
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
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.
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…
It’s been a little too quiet in here…
Originally posted on WINDSTREWN: In myriad ways, now and since, I’m less a formidable force than then, When I was…
Hope bore you home and when you came, mystery fell and broke open wide.
The children…called him “Tristeza del Padre.”
Save Destiny, but She was with you already…
The cloth of music is sewn as the spiny drum spins its wonder-thread.
Swing your smile on my heart like children play
But I’ve become a worn welcome to chance, having dreamt near all I’ve done.
I have exactly three cardboard boxes that smell of musty rental storage.
I don’t dare care. Against what they say, I know.