and the voices come at night
from the sink
from the half light
of a half dream
from the phone unanswered
chapstick
echoes from another space
perhaps another time
to show us glimpses
clues
visions of apocalypse
do we wish to play
and what are we willing to sacrifice
roaches in a jar
this is your wake-up call

at the outset of self foundation
i am bewildered into self containment
for nothing i see is me
and what i am now
lay naked and reluctant
to seek the unattainable goal
contentment
which is in itself
confusion

There lives in the everyday
On a Wednesday late morning sidewalk
Of grimy city and in the small town
In the overcast of pregnant skies

Just plain folks
Blind enough of their own ego
To wear an immunity of self like a concrete saint

You see them in timeless pause
And watch in awe and ache
As blue and grey birds
With eyes as cloudy as your skies
Rest peacefully on their fingertips
Nurturing fat bellies with morsels of a sacred stillness

you toy with me
distant friend
fingers through my hair
whispers as you dart about
our secret game will remain
our secret
but I must know if you are child or adult
woman or man
past lover in this or an earlier life
reveal to me the answer my spirit
so that you may walk in my dreams
and open the door to both worlds

I made my way
finally
to Point Pleasant
I crossed the Silver Bridge
and walked the blood soaked fields
where the Battle of Kanawha took place
I walked the streets and absorbed the energy
that hovered like unseen clouds
I approached an older woman walking her dog. She was very sweet and made me think of my Mom, God rest her soul. I knew there would be no harsh words or anger from this gentle lady.
I asked her with a friendly smile if she had a story of the Mothman she might share.
'Not the Mothman, she said...but I do have a story.
One from childhood that I've yet to tell anyone, not even my parents. I was maybe 11 or 12 and walking home after playing and it was getting late. I caught something out of the corner of my eye. When I looked, I saw a large plane losing altitude. It just came closer and closer until it leveled out and passed by very close. So close that I could see the passengers in their seats looking straight ahead, silhouetted against the light behind them. I could see their faces. It went by and then gained altitude again. The strangest thing is that I never heard a sound.
I'm not sure why I told you that story. I always felt that people would think I'm crazy. I suppose I can see that you are truly interested. So there you have it.'

I saw the museum, the ammo bunkers and TNT plant and went back to the hotel. I awoke the next morning to find two odd looking drops of blood on my pillow...still fresh. It startled me and I got up to see if it may have come from my ear. As I headed to the bathroom, I noticed more blood on the foot of the bed. In the bathroom there were 2 spots of fresh blood on the floor. I checked the mirror and found no blood in my ears. No nicks from shaving. No nicks on my arms, shoulders, neck or head. I have no idea whatsoever where that blood originated. And here's what really spooked me. They look like 2 very strange faces.

There were no phone calls from Indrid Cold. No prophecies of planes crashing or bridges collapsing, but I left Point Pleasant, West Virginia with a distinct and clear sense that I had tapped into an energy, peeked behind the curtain of Oz and maybe, just maybe I got their attention.

she looked upon the tree
as i looked upon her
charcoal shades
distant Sun
she filled the space
with her imagination
her emptiness as real as my own
how i wished to fill that space
quell her sadness with my own
but i had promises to keep
false dreams to carry out
i approached to ask she wait for me
so that i might clear my scripted day
and invite her in
but i turned away
and became a shadow neath her distant Sun