The Moon A Spotlight,
Hugging Me In Its Rays,
Sometimes I Prefer The Darkness,
More Than The Sunlight,
The Tree Branches Sway,
Giving Life To An Abyss,
A Passage For Dreams,
Dreaming About What Life Really Means

Do I Really Belong Here On Earth?
If All I Do Is Put Up A Fake Wall,
Do I Really Have A Light?
Which People Say Glow Inside Of Me,
Do I Really Have Enough Strength Left?
To Make It Another 80+ Years,
I Feel So Fake,
I Feel Like Plastic,
A Tree Trying To Reach The Stars,
But Being Held Back By The Ground

And As Dawn Slowly Approaches,
Dreams Recide With The Dying Moon,
And I Reflect,
As I Stand In The Freezing Breeze,
And As Colors Peak Over The Trees,
I Finally Know,
What Life Means

A White Wolf Stands Strong,
A Black Buck Stands So Valiant,
Tension Swarms The Air

A Rose Slowly Blooms,
Then It Slowly Starts To Die,
A Soul Is Then Born

Two Golden Orbs Scan,
Our Forever Changing World,
The Pupils Contract

Wings Spread Greatfully,
Giving Way To Sweet Protection,
Then Resurrection

A Black Wolf Stands Calm,
A White Tailed Deer Panicing,
Green Eyes Batt Quiet

Patient Is The Sun,
The Stars Have Their Own Heartbeat,
Very Few Hear It

Je Suis Le Lóbo,
Ne Vois-Tu Pas Mes Cicatrices?
J'ai La Mentalitè

Laughter,
Rib Punching,
Bone Popping,
Innocent Laughter,
The Purest Form Of Happiness,
Jarred Inside My Soul,
Packed For A The Trip I'll Make Someday,
As I Go Up A Yonder,
I Will Release This Music,
Like A Million Balloons,
Sound Made From The Cello Of Love


Smiling,
Eye Squinting,
Cheek Bursting,
Perfect Smiles,
The Purest Form Of Any Type Of Love,
Slow Motion,
The Strings On The Violin Of Life,
Strum A Steady Heartbeat

Thinking,
Head Grasping,
Stinging Thoughts,
Swarm My Mind,
Our Future,
Our Path On This Ever Stretching Road,
The Bass,
The Harmony Of Our Actions,
The Layout Of Our Life

Words,
Peacemaking,
Heartbreaking,
My Drug,
My Addiction,
I Love Hearing Your Voice Responding To Mine,
I Can Pick Your Voice From A Crowd,
If You Are Afraid To Be Loud,
Whisper,
I Can Still Hear The Viola,
The Viola Of Life's Orchestra,
Each Word,
Each Note,
Deciding The Fate Of Our Song

You Are My Companion,
My Family,
You Are The Music Of My Life,
And I Never Want To Hear,
The Silence,
Ever Again

There’s a bird perched on a tree high above me
He’s singing,
Singing is what he does best.
As he’s singing, I try to sing along
And I’m waiting for affirmation
I’m wanting to know
If I’m singing this song right,
Or if I’m singing it wrong.
It’s his song, not mine
& he’ll sing it all he wants to.
The bird has taken off, and I’m chasing him,
I am running so fast and so far
I’ve finally found him.
He was tired of the buckeye tree
So he perched himself on a Cactus.
I asked him, “What’s so special about a cactus?
Come back to the Buckeye Tree!”
But the bird just started singing his song again.
So I sing with him.
Now I have a new song that I want to show him.
I want him to sing my song with me.
So I started singing it,
But he’s not singing along,
Just his own song.
The seasons have just changed.
His feet are sore from that thorny Cactus
& he’s about to take flight again.
Maybe now he’ll want the buckeye tree
So he’ll be at home with me.
There he goes, he’s flying away!
So I’m running as fast as I can
I’m trying to catch up
But this isn’t the way
This is isn’t the way I remember,
The way to the Buckeye tree.
The bird is perched on a Palm tree.
I am tired, weary, and out of breath.
“A Palm tree! Why a Palm tree?
You are a Cardinal!
What did you fly away for anyway?
Come back to the Buckeye tree!
Be at home with me.”
But no.
The bird just began singing his song.
I am done trying to sing along.
It’s his song, not mine.

With every step I take
the ground ***** an ounce
of energy
right from the soles of my feet.
It charges a fee
for every second I stand
still.
It’s taken everything I have.
I have no energy left and
I’m begging you to carry me.

Our eyes tell us,
to remember
the strangest things,
like a religious wastebasket,
tucked into the arms
of a failing church.
We never see
the garishly painted thing
in the tiny sanctuary's
northeast wing,
until we bring it forth
in our mind
out of a necessity  
to throw away
a scrap of something
forgotten.

Look into all of your pockets,
And you will see, you have one or two and maybe even three.
What do they go to?
Your house, your car, a lock of some kind maybe?
Each one with its own unique cut and different look
Brink’s, Fargo “Safeguarding your valuables” is there motto.
Putting all of your trust in hopes that they will do what there made for.
So goes the saying, always trust the one you cannot see.
It takes two keys to open your box at the bank in there vault
Just like another type of box I know now.
One key lowers your bed for the perfect fit,
The other seals you in air tight and blocks out all the light.
No locksmith needed, no slim Jim required
These keys are all the same where ever you go.
What is the value of what is inside? I know what hers will be worth,
She should have two lira in hers and they’ll be covering her velvet eyelids,
Because it’s to pay the ferry man to cross over to the other side.    



                                    (CARSr.  4-25-12)

The eyes glaze over
From the icy chill

Sand paper lips
Ruby together as one

Frozen hands squeeze
Creating warm inner pockets

Winter is here again
With her mighty power

The power to create beauty
And destroy it all at once

It is in these nights
these stillest of nights
where the semi-arid air surrounds

the baking heat
that was the day
has for some time
given way

subtle aromas
fill all senses
combining sage
with that of gentle dirt

overlooking
the lights of cities
which strive to mirror
the stars inert

sit and ponder

all life's questions

for it is in these nights
these stillest of nights
that those grand answers might be found