Nostalgic Whist Exhilaration flares in his own anticipation, Unaware that I have completed a thorough investigation, Located the weakness, identified my trump card, And am eager to play. Enthusiasm for the game’s degradation, Unwittingly suspecting my abject failure, poor stakes indeed, Nostalgia, his only childhood…

Normalcy, the status quo for sure Boxes of being, convenience for conception Intended for manual correction Not connection to others, but Of afflictions to personality Not all is lost, however; Normal can be what you make of it It’s what you take from it, It’s…

It is hell to get old of that I’m told. But I’m still not certain why? I used to be able to see my toes when I looked down. Five ponds of potatoes weigh more than they used to. The road signs have been changed…

The sun peeking out of treetops Is a beautiful sight The red flowers on the highest branches Reflect the rays just right The crow family cawing at the sun? They just like things that are bright The early morning dew shines Like pearls scattered on…

So Death walks into a bar He asks for a Lime Gimlet The bartender gives him a dirty look Death won that round   Death walks into a restaurant He asks for an ice cream cone to go The waiter gives him a dirty look…

Such a maddening pain. Incessant, pulsating pressure in the mouth What is vanity next to agony? Decay behind the lips, failing speech. Incessant, pulsating pressure in the mouth Tongue lingering upon the opened wound Decay behind the lips, failing speech What insanity will find truth…

She cuts like a knife Deep down the heart, she cuts deep like the saw She is a pepper in disguise She is like a hungry ho She drains and leave the town in grief

Codes   Away from the storefronts and skyscrapers, the forest ranger waits for his bread to bake – sourdough twists, a hint of lemon, a taste that brings him back to life. He rubs the night from his eyes, tucks his green shirt in his…

to be is not to be that is eventually the answer to know that I will not be because you are: Death already you sing my song and I meet you in the harmonies I see there is a coda ending wrapping it all up…

Every morning begins with eyes upon a dark ceiling, mind shrugging away from the slumbering fog, searching for clarity, What time is it? Where am I? Instantly immersed in the accumulated web, mirrors, and books, carpets, cushions, windows that contain a controlled perspective. What is…