Ragged clothes on the sidewalk, toddlers murmur and cry
cold morning air where abandoned row houses
smell of whiskey, sage, and molded cotton

diesel exhaust belches into light breezes
forests of burning coffee beans mingle
into their hearth, the children, this is their nostalgia

everywhere leavings of life scatter driven by wind
cover unhoused, distressed, makeshift families
they stand shoeless as fortunate people drive past

Glut of humanity smells of wet newspaper
grey gulls picking at grimy cellophane
cardboard litters muddy sidewalks
above the billboard the wealthy jeer at them

sitting by a liquor store with bars on the windows
shut out of row houses with black wrought iron gates
basement stairwells filled with trash

men in alligator boots ready to lunge
into the lives of slick, bright, vacant women
this is the fate of feminine mother love

Thriving in dead landscapes
growing lost opportunity
under skyscrapers where it is always
almost dusk

Be not concerned regarding -
the future of your loved ones
For every whisper of wind and grain -
of sand has its purpose , each drop of -
rain enroute to a kindred ocean ...  

Bluebirds are connected with the placid mill pond , the thrashers are at peace with sparrow songs
Our days trapped in flesh shall cease
The day will come when we are called to the light , high
above the morning sycamores , the maples and the evergreens ,
highly charged with every hope , wish and dream
Entwined in eternal astral schemes

Will light remain intolerable -
one minute into physical death
Will the numen's that preside
o'er the living pass away , will the uncertainty
of black memories that shroud
the day abandon me , will the pang of death be
fleeting , will I possess the power of art in some starlit medium* ....

Sometimes in the struggle for-
inspiration I'll travel to
a secret lakeside location
Viewing the freshwater drink ,
a place to think , knowing that my whereabouts
are mired in constant change , for living beauty is cursed
with never appearing the same
Calm water reflections bound for the creek
Never to be seen
Perpetual motion , seeking the river with
thoughts of the ocean
Kinetic nature , uneasy me
Forever occupied with changing scenes* ...