Writing

with my head

but

not my heart

 

My spirit

an orphan

alone

— and apart

 

(Dreamsleep: November, 2024)

Left

with nothing

but heartache

— we run from the pain

 

Left

with nothing

but promises

— the words in refrain

 

Left

with nothing

but yesterday

— tomorrow a lie

 

Left

with nothing

but memories

— a final goodbye

 

(The New Room: November, 2024)

Time …

the enigmatic

trap

 we’re all caught within

 

(The New Room: November, 2024)

My slanguage

keeps the fire hot

my feet against the coals

 

My slanguage

what the critics hate

new venom to extol

 

My slanguage

whether read or sung

its message still the same

 

My slanguage

seeding my rebirth

— lost within the rain

 

(Dreamsleep: November, 2024)

Painfully beautiful …

oxymoronic

The quiet so loud

— all parameters die

 

(Dreamsleep: November, 2024)

Writing

is but

an escape

for the soul

 

Freeing

our passions

making

— us whole

 

(Dreamsleep: November, 2024)

 

He stood by

my cradle

And followed

my hearse

Unlocking

two portals

Both blessing

— and curse

 

(Dreamsleep: November, 2024)

Today

 I decided

not to rhyme

 

The words

in volleys

poorly formed

 

Predicates

outcast

 covers smashed

 

Their accents

bouncing

 meanings lost

 

Today

I decided

not to rhyme

 

Appeasing

some

beyond the fence

 

Connections

broken

  phrases served

 

Playing tennis

without

— a net

 

(The New Room: November, 2024)

Reaching into the

public consciousness

the words were given free

 

Blowing fresh holes

through blind consensus

nothing there to see

 

Reaching into

the common anthem

selling out for fate

 

Lost in the current

of tomorrow’s maelstrom

— passing heaven’s gate

 

(The New Room: November, 2024)

We couldn’t survive

each to the other

We couldn’t let go

to live

We couldn’t give

without retaking

We couldn’t express

what we felt

We couldn’t stay quiet

when being together

We couldn’t come back

from the past

We couldn’t forgive

what time had rescinded

We couldn’t remember

— to forget

 

(Woodstock: Summer, 1969)