My words are a saxophone,

my phrases a drum

 

My stanzas a keyboard,

my rhyming a gun

 

The Muse is my bullet,

the readers a shield

 

The darkness my target

—its bullseye revealed

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)

“The Wicked Flee When None Pursueth,”

proverbs tells us so

 

The righteous stay in judgment’s light,

to harvest what’s been sown

 

Those prodigal delinquent souls,

that life has cast astray

 

Walk free the line tween right and wrong

—till fate will have its say

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)

Letter to letter once estranged,

they mate in open air

 

Copulants of a thought unloved,

 vowels conceived in pairs

 

An alphabetic orgy,

the first word falls in place

 

Darkness changing into light

—all silence to replace

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

Does memory store from front to back,

or more like side to side

 

Do childhood dreams seem closer now,

than yesterdays goodbye

 

Does memory scorn all month and year,

a dimension of its own

 

Remembering best what matters most

—defying time enthroned

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

Is the fire escape of love

still open

does it go both up and down

will it rescue you from the flames

of possession

promising only exit

never refuge from the heat

Is the iron railing molten

as you step out on the landing

is the air too hot to breathe

as you take that one look back

is the smoke

a cloud that follows

your feet melting into sorrow

is that voice you’re hearing through the blaze

—the love you’re running to or from

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

Prose on one side, verse the other

—distance in between

 

The bridge has burnt, the Muse now two,

each seeing only green

 

The breaths that flow are then contained,

no synergy allowed

 

The fathoms deep between their words

—whose river both endows

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

Deadly to his enemies,

confusing to his friends

 

While faithful to his writing,

all justified intent

 

Furious in times of war,

in peace his vision burns

 

But past the fray, inside his verse,

a gentler spirit yearns

 

Salvation long then sacrificed,

a fate he can’t deny

 

A cross that’s left for him to bear,

but still his spirit cries

 

Through battles mostly devil sent,

and victories sealed with death

 

This guilt the price he’s had to pay,

now felt with every breath

 

But one last wish he prays out loud,

one cry is sent above

 

“My spear, my pen, my joie de vivre,

I trade all back for love”

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

I know what you are,

but only you know who that is

 

I know what you said,

but only you know what that means

 

I know how it looks,

but only you know how it feels

 

I know when you’re missing

—but only you know when you’re gone

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)

Running from everywhere,

 nowhere to go

 

Your mask in place

—forever alone

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)

The enemy of my enemy

—masquerading as my friend

 

(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)