the words tied
together carefully,
with a natural
nonchalance
belying the
concentration,
looking for all the world
like a harmless insect
cast into the
atmosphere
with such a
casual flick
of a wrist
to float lightly
upon the waters
of consciousness
relaxed wary hands
await the emergence
of the subconscious
from the depths
the hook is strong
and snelled
to set deep.

a musician's blessing:
there's always a song
in your mind.

a musician's curse:
you are not always
the program manager.

there's craft enough
to last my lifetime;
any artistry left?

While I still breathe, I write to save my life
in compact form; mistakes, the lessons learned,
triumphant days and nights of needless strife
brought on by willful dreams and bridges burned.
One day too soon, a final page will turn,
the book will close. My fine and fragile chain
to life will break.  A loneliness unearned
will mark your passing days in ink of pain.  
Then if you wish to hear my voice again
one silent morning when you wake alone,
I leave you songs and poems.  Each refrain
will resurrect the soul you've always known.
So when my fated moment shall arrive,
my words are here; come read me back alive.

the pack of demons
who run with me must know that
i'm the alpha male

two grand masters
play checkers;
chess is a lost cause

angular
the memories
of the body drawn
by god's own french curve
the soul un(re)touched
by human hardship
the eyes brown warm
acknowledging sin
accepting the sinner
the sacred heart
still wearing
bearing the
crown of ignorance
set upon it
thorny years ago

and still pumping love
into the universal void
free
to any willing to
stand in the rain
and catch it on their tongues