In keeping with tradition he did the opposite of what he always wanted to do.

Quietly he went along the road with no name, no ego and much remorse.

Deftly he examined the highs and lows in the corners of his middle aged mind.

Examining his heart with the heavy hand of God he paced and thought.


Reeling in the ghosts of another time and place- he knows so well.

Reeling out anxieties and fears that the coming tomorrows will surely bring.

Reeling in those closest to him for support and distracting interludes of wine.

Reeling out sediment from deeply sunken and scarred wrecks left unattended for years.


In keeping with tradition he forged further onward like cowboy Neil at the wheel.

Quietly he went on alone, armed only with the memories of love he had- but lost.

Deftly he examined the tides and the levels of the seas in which he sailed upon.

Examining his heart with the heavy burden of those he failed while chasing his hidden *** of gold.


Reeling in the ghost actions of a moment or scene long gone- but not so far away.

Reeling out the sighs of praying angels who root for the goodness he deserves.

Reeling in the energy he needs from others who do not wish to share there hearts.

Reeling out the heavy weight of uncertain tomorrows lingering in limbo in our minds.

brittle January
narrow colorful rising of the sun
from the tree comes the squirrel
for his buried

tires levitate  
rain falls before snow
heavy hearts burst
on roads to nowhere

dark cinder sky
low and in control
tunes out the signal
then blinds the light

short is the union
long is the day
long is the night
long is the life

In Truth,

Because the sun rose,
the sun must set-
because the rain fell,
it now must dry-
because the grass grew,
it shall one day die-

Upon Waking,

Death with beating heart

denoting end of days

in which we’ve had not one-

but two risings

of the same sun.

White fence surrounds

green grass beneath feet

piny forest near by

blank walls tell tales

grey and peach colors

tearful the batch glides

to a salty halt

Beautiful butterfly flying

vibrating clocks shimmer

silent a call

deaf the ear

true be the thumping

overgrown the garden is

Shakespearian Quatrain breathes

angelical choirs rise

steam from melting cold

anchors weigh down dreams

twin like orbits

shift and decay in wind