Tall tales and true,
Tally **, Paraburdoo,
One tail that's Blue,
Australian dog, town Dampier,
Another Kelpie, Cattle Dog Cross,
Red Dog, the pilgrim wanderer.
Dried, barren landscapes,
Tally, Blue, Dampier Salt,
Wounds, numerous fights and scrapes.
Inspiration looks us down,
Dampier folks will look up,
Overlooking Dampier town,
All but just a memory.

That awkward moment,
When I looked you in the eye,
And promised myself nothingness
Thinking, just another apple on the tree.

But brick by brick,
It all came down, flawlessly crashing,
And it was like, another door had opened,
And I could finally look across that wall,

So then there was that awkward moment,
When It turns out, it actually promised,
That It would be the one.

Black slimy books, black slimy words
Black slimy fingers cramed them into a black slimy worlds

In my cracked up mind those slimy black words sunk in
This is how the end will begain

Blackbird sitting on my windowsill
Wait for me to seal the deal

Those black slimy words soon accumulates
They become black slimy books, my imagination stimulates

The black goat waits outside my window patiently
As the black sheep walks around aimlessly

The black slimy books have now become blood slimy pictures
Seen through my mind's eye with stricter
It was all becoming the perfect blood slimy mixture

The black goat has now donned his crown
He beckons me to come on down
To stand beside him on the earths ground

The blood slimy pictures are now a blood soaked movie in my head
That plays over and over and over, till I'm filled with blood soaked dread


So I seal the deal with the blackbirds blood
Emotions overwhelms me like a torrential raging flood
Then the emotions are suddenly gone with a thud

So if you are reading this you might see why
I left with the black goat, so dont you cry
Maybe I'll be back as time goes by

Red toes peak out from peep-toe laced Sperries,
heels clicking the hard-tiled floor of the dance room.
The black swan stared back from its home within her mirror,
red toes peak out from peep-toe laced Sperries.
She twirled and twirled, the swan did the same.
Each day the swan came to play, chipping the polish with every dance,
until the red toes were chipped and nearly gone.

If you have problems understanding feelings of the present moment: just relax and time your take (take your time[1] ); start to day dream about it and let it come to you like the film of a disney movie...[2] as I talk about the time I randomly met Bill Murray.

Mother pulled the beat to hell diluted blood red minivan containing my brother and I into the darkened parking lot. The car couldn't park fast enough as my brother and I tore the creaky side door open and leapt onto the awaiting pavement. We stepped from darkness into light as we hopped onto a curb to be greeted by the brilliance of neon lights erected atop a single story rectangular building squatting at the top of the rectangular lot like a full measure rest. Glass windows as whole walls teased the treasures that lay before my eyes window-shopping like madmen I felt the objects of my covetry leap from their white shelves into my sweaty youthful grasp. Mother breezed forward, stepping across the tier confidant and disengaged; the front door rang announcing our presence. Two bells sounded: ring ring. The Rhines were here. Like a pistol shot signifying the start of a race, my brother and I scampered and scattered and scuttled like wild animals, scouring the shelves that sat dispersed through the gleaming room consuming with our eyes words that told stories with pictures that danced and sang. Clusters of shelves huddled together under several flat signs hung by frail strings dangling from the ceiling displaying themes that told me where to avoid "Romance" and where to find my beloved "Science Fiction." I halted, realizing almost as if there were indentations within the itchy carpet that had alerted me to the place where I had cemented by ruddy feet countless times before. I took my roving eyes from the stalling ground to peer up into the shelves that loomed over me like giants, arching over my head like holy stones erected atop holy celebratory sites of yore. My fingers traced along the shelves trailing over the innumerate plastic spines that encased my bountiful riches; I mouthed the vibrant words imprinted like cattle on each of them and sang to myself stories that spawned off of each one before finding the paragon that most expertly weaved JR the Raconteur into its fabrications. I bore into its dazzling shell hungrily, gobbling up faces and places and names and dates I spun it over to its backside to read plots to read histories to read legacies to read memories I read and read and saw and saw my mind was never more alive with the astounding conception of limitless potentialities my night was just getting started and with my final selection--and mother's blessing--I would march home victoriously wielding my fortune, my medium for which the pictures in my mind would transpose and dance before me like luminous sprites on the brilliant splendor of a luminescent two dimensional stage that is the television screen. It was the weekend getaway I waited for with anticipation every Saturday; I was an unversed monk relishing in the ancient libraries of History.

A monochrome film plays
Over and over.
To a singular audience.
It rewinds.
Pauses.
Fast-forwards.
It sticks on one frame
Over and over.
In the scene
It's me, lost in a
Labyrinth.
It's walls lit with
projected clips
of a monochrome film.
Playing.
Over and over.