it's amazing how many human beings,
never take a moment to watch the sun rising,
clouds dispersing,
birds singing sweet melodies,
awakening many other creatures.
we fail to take such moments to thought
or heart,
and to thank our creator for placing it there for our sight,
our wonder.

There’s a patch of old snow in a corner
  That I should have guessed
Was a blow-away paper the rain
  Had brought to rest.

It is speckled with grime as if
  Small print overspread it,
The news of a day I’ve forgotten—
  If I ever read it.

Scribble, scribble, let the pen
Strike infinite scripts
Of ancient runes in syncopatic grooves  
Spilling my roots
In open blends of hues
Transfused and
Transfixed in haze
The truest fade
It bade me to tip - toe
Amongst hybrid visions
Indigenous to the deepest blues
The realest thing to me and you
Is the mind and spirit...
The mind and spirit...
The reciprocal.
The body.
Peripheral.

Steady, pulsating drips
Form a cacophony of tiresome
Drifts of time
Winding down the twirls of
His paintbrush the trials of
Liquid resonance.
Pattern-less,
The degenerate.
Out of touch with reality,  
The artist,
In shambles.
Dialysis.

HERE in a cage the dollars come down.
      To the click of a tube the dollars tumble.
      And out of a mouth the dollars run.

          I finger the dollars,
          Paper and silver,
          Thousands a day.

      Some days it's fun
              to finger the dollars.
Some days...
              the dollars keep on
              in a sob or a whisper:
      A flame of rose in the hair,
      A flame of silk at the throat.