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Editing - polished draft

Sounds at Dusk

I’ve walked this road a thousand times
and probably a thousand to come
Changes are subtle but still they befuddle
My eyes catch the shifting of some

The mist has arrived in dusks fading light
The shadows that fall now seem twisted
I take cautious steps not knowing why
Now find myself taunt and tight fisted

The concrete seems soft, leaving my mark
Behind me the trail disappears
My eyes are deceiving but ears are receiving
the low groans they suddenly hear

To our Mother, Nature

It’s all a buzz and hum of living
swirling among clouds,
lifting high above the ceiling
of the what’s and why’s and how’s,

A swarm of wilderness afloat
upon the wings of the great breath,
a ray of sun is sizzling hot
upon my skin and sheath.

Reasons do nothing to contain
the joy of being still,
there’s a wide melody that trails
since before my birth and still—

I attune to listen in
to the shouting match of crows,
the blooded drum beating within
to the great dance and its bows—

Ninth Dimension

It is so sad to feel this way
The glue has come undone
I see no way to remedy
The twisted side has won

A world that races wildly on
With plundering and shame
The only way to sidestep this
Is play that deadly game

An entity of greed and force
Lives totally aware
Inside my intellect it breeds
Those wicked words of flair

That is the way I capture them
And toy to my delight
That words of beastly attitude
Will mirror their hate tonight

Wrinkles In a Cup

The coffee was acidly strong right about then.
Just hung stingy and pricking on the buds.
I knew I tasted this bitterness before and there I stood.
Holding in the sour guts of it all night; delaying the foreseeable.
All night, changing the words, shielding the wound.


Thoughts are better off born without much thought.
Alarms ring, feet muster the morning chill.
Beat the clock, steal a glance a second.
Tick and clang reverberates your brain.
You know the one you put to bed a mere hour ago.

Fast lanes passing on the right.
Toll cards and frozen elevators.
Forty floors up to boredom.
Could spit fall at such a rate as to break
apart the ants head?

She Dies Unwillingly

I will never convince the masses to turn.
Threats they’ll burn fall like scattered beads.
It’s an old tale they have hardened to.
The ocean is dying, the forests are crying.
Though not by way of rain.

This world we walk has a heart and soul.
At least it began that way.
But today she’s hanging by a thread
and I dread the outcome.

Can we not hold hands somewhere
and swear to try again?

Decaffeinated rainbows

Bring us words - witty, wise or wistful
Written with all of their potential
Make sense of life's distorted mirror
To unlock our deepest emotional stirrings
Write with all of your potential

Share your words - wrapped in plastic, paper or silk
Extract understanding, pain and happiness
As you touch the deepest pit, your wildest j*oy
Help us distill each drop of emotion
Bitter, sweet or salty combinations on the tongue then
Project films - romance to noir from amidst your potential


It is a misty sort of day
with a light gray fog
draping over the pines.
The dampened earth
is full of the flavor
of autumn.

Colors are peaked
leaves have dropped
the earth's perfume
is strong and sweet
as it devours what is
left of summer.

It is always a glorious
wonder to me how such
delicious beauty is born
from the death
of so many things.

Fatal Air

Unless air is fatal to those who breathe, you should have nothing to fear. The safest way of surviving Fatal Air is to steal a few handfuls of blazing air.
Granting you access to:
“Enter without Danger.”

the day I lost an old love

A day ordinary as days before,
the sky was blue and heavy with cloud,
the air though sultry but beside my love
caressing and healing.

On the path where a year ago our love was born
we walked with our hands locked in love.
Under the grove of trees bearing flagrant fruits
shaped life dove-eye of love
we glided down the path in love.


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