a head of imageland
cbc wasteland at nights
travelling by car

cds that still work
from 2007

and books random and sketchy
bleeding through the tapestry of
modern and archive from bookstores
slick and forgotten

if this stands out in imagery
then I am
more then satisfied with this Poem

some of this is ripples on the surface
and others run far far below

thank You

in the stillness the rain is heard
the tap against the dry want of the quiet
before the rush of noise steady
when the light seeps in on the
sheen and rises up like the mists
the unison of movement an exulted
moment of action

works like these are the far run from
the bland from my focal point

I only wish I had a masters
the ability to brow beat
instead I have that raw nerve of intuition
and gift

and the ghosts of all the driven mad poets
eager at their machines
with parched starvation fodder
of imagination