Foolish bird that won't sing.
A rumbling little thunder becomes on the wind.
A worker in full swing.
Clinging gracefully to every flower that he finds there to cling.
Weary bird, anymore not caring for threat.
And those long brown wings weigh heavier yet.
Not looking.
Not singing.
The boy cries, "Just sting him, sting him! Sting him to death!"
Poor bird with poisoned veins lays still in his rest.
His eyes slowly closing he remembers his nest.
And his mother singing proudly deep from her breast.

Is it I or them, that fate has forced
to shadow in my lifeless eyes
for truth has bitterness to pay
and flame light flares along its path

when right and wrong are undiscerned
and creatures stir within their cage
when parents clip the wings of birds
and suffer them their broken ways

there lives between uncertain wrongs
an urge to end the war outside
to flee from all you say is true
and debts that cost too much to pay

yet finding manifested strong
the time to read between the lies
we spindle back the fraying cord
that blindly leads us to the grave

I've sauntered to the blackened gates
and laughed out at the red inside
that fails pride and injures truth
and falls down where it cannot rise

half a dead pigeon
has indented itself in the gravel lot next door
and every day at dusk, when i run my sacred shower,
(with the lights off and windows open
and otis redding echoing through the empty house)
i have to watch the black static tide of flies
swim around one of it's upward bent wings.

the first time i saw it my jaw dropped and repulsion choked my throat closed-
disturbed by it's total disgrace,
i slammed the window shut
and preferred to gaze at tile grime to pass the time.
but from the days that followed,
i managed to muster up respect
and acknowledged that this
battered half of a bird
was now a variable in my scenery
(praise be to impermanence)

and now
the sunset drowns everything in it's hazy blood orange
and the wind floods the trees and fills the underside of the bridge with sound,
and i stand naked in the warmth,
singing boldly out of key, twisting hot water out of my hair,
as the summer breeze politely invades my privacy.

so i salute the pigeon, say i wish you the best.
and embrace the weight and fullness of my happiness,
and know well i am more than body and voice,
and watch it sink further into the arms of the earth each night.
grateful to know that death doesn't end life.

Dear brothers, sisters,  strangers, lovers, nomads, squatters, bozos, hobos, dharma pilgrims, wierdsters, screwballs, friends and punks;

Lest not we forget all roads are open--
gates, tollbooths and traffic lights are phantasms
of the night and mirages during the day.
I pray your drive for answers doesn't distract
from the scenery.
The Places
you pass have a story buried
under the grocery stores, banks and police stations.
The People
who walk in and out of your life
or even next to you when crossing the streets
have a story burning in their veins.  
The Things
you touch; be it a plastic shopping bag
or a dear friend's soul are stained by your mental scents and sounds.

Each moment on the road is adventurous--
our wings of profound restlessness
and legs of conscience wanderers
speak without words to our hearts and minds,
because we know there is more beyond what we perceive
inward and outward.

Follow those cravings, aches and questions
even if there are no visible answers
on the highways, boulevards and alleys.
Rejoice in now!

spring night…
moth wings flutter
the porch light

A split second spent, 
wide- eyed gazing upon your
somber shaded face
immersed in December white;
'T was then I lit the flame 
Of wanderlust ardor.

A streak of love,
A burst of breathless delight,
Both trod the boulevard 
In my palms.
The pavement shined like silver,
And a benevolent force so tender
Stopped my tears,
Stopped my soaring through nighttime madness.

Stay
When the night is over,
And my heart's flame of delight
Lay dreaming in pigments of 
Periwinkle,
And my eyelashes in the midst of a dreary blackness
Express a yearn to caress
Your witty, amethyst heart.

Through a starlight's gaze,
Upon a mural bestowing beauty,
I close my eyes and
A piano song breaks the caramel swirl of sunlight,
And my somber tears are shed,
Because I know you are blind to see not
that when I am lost, 
When the trees are bare of grey and byways are full of strangers,
I blink and you have found me,
Pretending your beauty is amongst my monstrosity.

When you are gone,
Gone without my wilted, acrylic wings,
Alone I walk a golden pavement,
Amongst the hibiscus sun of dawn,
Drowning in your laughter song,
wishing it was verity.