The tenderness of stars is true
When darkness swallows careful
And I lean back next to you
Of all things learned and taught
Only one I know to be thoughtful
In matters alone and matters not
Only and only the tenderness of stars is true

they did not realize how dear
the ransom cost was to be
in hindsight now they do look
with eyes more lucid

on the grass blades
tiny glass dewdrops closely clung
to reflect rainbows

The tricks of the self:
to confuse and divide, ensnare and impair,
to turn the head on the tail.
Leaving us all chasing circles,
lashing out at phantoms and grasping for dreams.
Living our life's through fiction.
Against the real, it seems we rail.

See Spot Run..
This icon of our education
yes..of youth..but continuing..
The question might be asked:
Was our education ever other
than variations of Spot running..?
Sophistication arrived but
the strong belief of separation:
Spot..and ****..and Jane
remains.. seemingly implanted
unquestioned and permanently
in what we call our world..
Through the years
some have found discomfort
a hole at the center of
Spot's adventures..
A vague unsettling
blossoming on some days
to sharp fragmentary pain..
In our many searchings
for restoration and  fulfillment
might we in some momentary
clarity..see Spot not running
but dissolving into
the light of day...

you know that
I wear my crazy
on my sleeve.

it's best if
you just
let me be.

aren't there other
train wrecks
for you to go
and see?

if you really
love me,
then leave.

because there
isn't anything
here to see.

I think of you
In the late hours of the night…
It’s where I find
Your eyes shooting across the sky -
Your shadow matching mine
And Silence
becomes Absolute.

I search for you
In the eternal waves of time…
It’s where I see
Your black and white seconds
The black moments -
And White
Becomes Ink.

I long for you
In the early hours of dawn…
When the lights are low,
When memories grow
When everything I know
It’s colour blind and cold –
And you become
Another you.