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Choices With Voices

one foot in heaven the other in hell got a good story to tell
there was an old Hustler named Oscar who sold his junk out of his freezer.
made his living selling dope to cope while he had a fight with the soap on the rope
one day Oscar was being busted yet he put all his faith in God he trusted
he knew that heaven was still his home but he was now doing time in the pen
Oscar got many visitors wanting to discover the power he had even locked up
he had an inside job selling cigarettes each new day he would reflect

Any house on any hill.

Houses bear with a certain solitude-
Windows stare with eyeless black
Boards are washed, a timeless servitude
They house the dead, but do they know
The living looking back?

Pale in the vale of sun-stripped stalks,
Out in the windless woods walked
Those penniless pitiful few-
Who eked out a life here
For a year or two

And now, in the scraping interlude
Between silent cars and wind gusts through
Sits I, mock monarch to survey,
The kingdom of rooks and slow decay

Sound bound

Lampooning accent
Less important than intent
And right to dissent

Afternoon Nap

It is an unusually bright 
Sun goes right through
 all the bare branches 
and through the roofs.
It fills up my room
with dancing particles of dust.

I am back from the forest
still breathing hard;
my cheeks burn.

I saw a half-frozen creeck
surrounded by white ornament 
of half-melted snow, and ducks 
busily boring into the silt
heads down, showing
their butts and tips of the wings.

Grey smoke

In the lonely hours.
When Dark Shadows surrounds me.
And Burning goosebumps emerge.
I see that image again.
On the broken mirror, beside my lamppost.
Her hair dripping wet.
Watching my portrait all day,
Like Crystalline reflections.
I skipped a breathe, and watched.
Being swiftly chased,
Down the dark alley into a pit of echoing voices.
I screamed, but there was no one there.
So I asked you?
Can I lay by your side.

Ode To P.T.S.D.

Ode To P.T.S.D.

When hope is but a memory
of things that were not meant to be
frozen in a frame of mind
that sanity has left behind

days seem long and full of pain
a never-ending acid rain
eating at your very soul
until it is no longer whole

Crescent Moon

Darkness of night
Tree’s shade the sky
Passing fog, gently touching window screen
Wheels spinning slowly
I’m in the passenger seat
Radio playing, mind joyful
Hoping to see something beautiful
Winding country roads,
You never know what could pop out
To greet you from the roadside

Light so bright piercing through the tree’s
I couldn’t help but tilt my head upwards
Towards the starry sky

There she was…


Who knows where we go to when we die?
Who knows where our soul will travel to?
Who knows if heaven or hell exist-
Or just a lullaby to make us sleep.

He said hell or heaven
ten virgins for my soul
he said blah blah blah.

Mama said have faith
The preacher said have faith
Everyone said have faith
Maybe I was born with no faith.

Let every man do their own
Jesus, Allah, Budha, Pagan do your own
Let me drink water and drop cup
For the land can contain us.

Welcome, but...

There will be no faith
for those that enter here
No one wants to watch you
make a fool of yourself
Cerebral assassins will hunt you down
for being one step away
from being an imbecile
There is no truth except theirs
And they will not tolerate
any deviation from
their perception of it
So, stay in the shadows
and do not reveal yourselves
or you may be next
to be skewered and roasted
over the fires of zealotry


I want to be everywhere all at once-
In Paris, scent of fog from midnight gargoyles,
In New York, unnoticed in subways of faces,
In the Okavango swamps among the giant ospreys,
In Rio when the wet bodies of Carnival entwine...

I want to taste all the tastes at once-
The spices, the holiness of warm bread,
The foam of duck egg on mushroom,
The thrill of icy pilsner,
The water of the coconut...


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