There are Poets
for the stage

And Poets
for the page

The difference
  often subtle

In your eye,
  and in your ear

There are Poets
for the stage

And Poets
for the page

One well for them
  to draw from

Two voices,
—flowing clear


(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

Nuclear Poetry,
  a single bomb drops

To wipe out the hate,
  to reset the clock

A megaton scream,
  its verse burns alive

The plague of excuses,
—deception and lies

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

blurry image, out of focus
closing in on hopeless notice
broken glow, prone to coldness
holding on to low the closest

lambent lacking, saddened blackness
lasting facts of tragic practice
shattered glass, facet blasted
passing granted hands the fastest

We all do time in the sweat box
At some point in our lives
The desperate, desperate sweat box
Where we're crucified

It's part of living, part of life
A right of passage, must be done
If you've not been in the sweat box
You've got it still to come