I,
Though constant, bitter fear
And lack of death
Become living emptiness
Replete in dissonance
A lost cause-
For in my mind
I just can't be enough

I rule the Principality of Randolph and no other
I stand unshackled by political thought and the misdirection of my fathers
I've no tolerance for the panicked Gen X , Y nor Z enlightened , for I
glow vividly in the darkened apparatus of my own tinkering mind as well
I hold a book of Sandburg poetry with my right hand ,
a mattock in the left , the hefty chain of truth around
my neck , a Cherokee rose in a left pocket , a revolver in the right
I am a firm believer in the barbed wire cattle fence , bone chilling
November front porch mornings with black coffee and biscuit
The call of an Iron Bell , the clear ringing notes of mournful Dove , watchful Crow and story filled Whippoorwill* ...

A tale of woe for a jealous guitar
Desperate to mimic the angels song , the chorus of a seagull throng , the shrill of a captain Jay , the Cardinal in the first week of May , the bass notes of a bullfrog while his cohorts perfectly hum along
Compulsive Chickadees in the scuppernong bush
The buzz of blue darters in the blackberry lush
Tickle of wind bells prior to summer showers
The hammer of rain at a hundred miles per hour* ....

To see the world with the eye of a photographer
To know true colors and their importance in working together , completing the page , punctuality , knowledge of shadow , the art of location , background from forefront , 'twould help all of us quite well* ..