The Devils popping the bubble wrap
Hail is bouncing off the front door steps
Blustery tree lines wrapped in sheets of lightning
blue , rivers forming at downspouts , thunder
growing louder
Cars come to a crawl
Peace and violence are poised to draw
Suddenly showers stall , a lull ensues
Quiet resumes , the night is rescued
The treefrogs strike a tune , the June bugs swoon
The timid moon looms , the insect musicians balloon
The oboes , the clarinets , the piccolos and the cellos
Sweet voices , the harps , the guitars and the pianos
A whippoorwill calls the orchestra to order ,
the thrushes , mockingbirds , the katydids , the cricket
chorus , the coyotes , the bobcats , the hoot owls and
the sprites
The jays , the cicadas  and the songsters of night
Goodbye Old Man Squall , may the creatures of the eve
now come to call , may the maidens of the forest render
ballads of rest , may the fledglings of the morrow lay
peacefully in their nest* ...

“Why are you still here?”
Is the question she asked me the first time we met.
I was not fazed.
I was not hurt.
I felt nothing.
It is a question I ask myself at times.
I answered with a dry voice in a body that was so quite
It felt like I may be stone.
A stillness so fragile the slightest wind could shatter it.
“For years I’ve crept along life aimlessly,
A ghost with no voice.
Staring at the EXIT sign that follows me everywhere.
I want to go through
And yet my body is too stiff to move….  
I’m holding out on the idea that I may be wrong about the world.
About me.
As I so often am.”
And in the hollowness that poisons me,
I found a shimmer of hope that still resides in me.
A hope that I just may be wrong.

Be good
Dear readers
And love the world like you should
For it does not need us
The way we need it
For we are meager in its Eye
A simple dust in time
And it; enteral

Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But words cut deeper than you’ll ever know
It’s a torture so ever slow;
Crushing bones to ash
An activity so expecting
I almost find it welcoming?
So swift, we slash
So eagerly, we bash
Too often, we find ourselves staring at a way out
Too often, we continue running in circles
Back to what we wish would fade
Addicts to abuse; we moan
Sticks and stones
Oh my love, how they can break the bone
But words are the sharpest weapon mankind will ever know
And while my body and soul absorbs these scars
Promise one thing darling
The next time we play this game of sticks and stones
Do not utter a single word

They believe I can’t see it
Their twisted smiles
Saliva dripping from their self-trained tongues
Speaking in their fluent language of Lies
Eyes coated in Sin
(Vanity, the most precious of them all)
Planting the seed of Paranoia inside unfortunate minds
Backward promises; they often vowel
A game of souls; they love to play
There’s no escape from this life of ours
No restart button I’m afraid
No rewriting pages already written
Oh, my poor sweet child-
How I weep for you-
I sincerely do-
To be born into this realm of misery
Nothing is what it seems
Everything what that is
Is not
Welcome to a cynical world, darling

I live,
In the lucidity of dreams
Undreamt

Eternally naked,
In front of a crowd
Yet, dwelling
In a trench coat style
I'll bare you my soul,
Yet hide my face
I prefer my words, on the wind
Felt,
Never heard
A fading voice
In the chamber of
Never Unlocked
In the realm of things touched
I remain untouched
Unkown
Reality holds no fascination for my eyes
I went blind when the hopscotch grid got washed away by the rain

I live
In the lucidity,
Of dreams
Undreamt