Atop strange barricades
waving stranger flags.
We may bemoan the happenings
but are resolved to let them be.

We all have our secret places we carry with us all our lives. But time makes them so mythic we sometimes wonder whether they existed at all.

I stirred the fallen leaves
in a walk of dream.
There was no destination.
But each footfall woke a thought in hibernation.

Once thoughts crawl
out of dark corners
and onto white pages,
all fragments compete for expression,
to witness the greater whole.

I’d write to you
if my words were limbs-
capable enough to touch you.

I'm tired of words,
but somehow they
bridge the distance between us.

Ashes pour
through his bloodshot eyes
as the fire inside of him dies.

I nuzzle into you
Finding your heartbeat
That soothe of its beating
Nested in your eyes.
If could stay, just there
a lifetime.

Beyond the afar cloud
a song
turning off sunlight,
I can breathe but silence.

Beneath a saddened twilight
My teardrops mirrored;
Your still face.

Beneath a saddened twilight
My teardrops mirrored;
Your still face.

I found you
in that secret place
where
kindred souls dwell
in between
the wonder.

a favorite memory,
tucked behind her ear like a flower.
its fragrance follows.
its beauty illuminates her face.

Infinitesimal instances of green burst in the trees.
The woods in its infancy, expands,
a pastel cloud darkening, gathering shade.

Analog clock eats
the time, hour,
minute, second hands
push minutes into its face,
devouring moments
like a baby her finger food.

I am a drop;
rain drop.
I am happiness,
and in single drop
I am ocean
of melancholy.

There is a cloud lilting with curious birdsong.
It folds and carefully wraps the ancient hill.

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.
Most of my beholders are blind.

I feel every single word
they slice the edges of my soul
I bleed syllables, 
consonants and vowels
dripping  onto parchment.

There,
stretched in perfect symmetry;
the tombs of lovers,
since the first breath was drawn..

He tore
A shred of moon-shine
to wrap these moments.

Memphis,in a valley of Kings;
early morning,rifleman propped up,
bent on murder
another dream deferred.