In a clearing, in a forest Sprites still sing and dance to an enchanted melody. They have done so since time immemorial. They were never delusional; they know the ills of the worlds they choose not to inhabit, But they have created havens: Grew ferns…

You’ve seen me without my face, Without my lipstick and my mistakes, Blemish rests upon these bones, Wearing nothingness: I relish upon my throne. You accept my get-up, But would much rather do without it, Experiencing my shield, The one of foundation and powder. Clear…

I remember one midnight mass years ago. A quaint old church some miles away. Lantern in hand, our boots crunched in the wet grass. Our laughter ringing clear in the empty country field. And thereafter, as beech firewood burnt in the fireplace, We toasted each…

to think without language would be to perceive a reality unwrapped of fabrications, the true of things the image if we forget to talk we forget every page we’ve read in the “how-to” for liars language creates monsters who write themselves out of their monster…

Hour 4 – 9:00 AM   I’ve been a menace in my dreams. I’ve heard the child’s loudest screams. We take a vote one more time. And slide on through to the other side. Unrecognized in this frame of mind. Where we’ve swallowed our demons,…

It’s seems funny, the way the animals sound at a distance, the mountains stand tall, I have read they could be mustard seeds, only if my faith allows…

As boots crunch a trail through the leaves of the beech, And the ferns grow to sun that is just out of reach, The fireflies dance like a lantern alight, While their laughter disperses the silence of night.

The grains of sand Are joined in turn A rock is formed In this. When gathered more The grains of sand A boulder Now exists. When gathered All The grains together Now I can see The mountains in the sand.

At least when my ADD collides with my OCD Things are chaotically happening orderly. I can sing a song of six-pence, but not one of five, uneven numbers, sting in my head like angry bees from a sticky hive. I can also sing really fast,…

Part IV Over the top – flamboyant, is how many artists are caught to fight the front lines, for me, I was standing too close to the edge of the bunker, the dirt gave way and I fell inside, alone and screaming for my comrades…