The difference between

too much

— and not enough

  

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

If your verse

is not remembered

Then all that time

was lost

 

Pretty words

and clever lines

Will melt

like Winter’s frost

 

If what you say

is subject

To what the wind

will blow

 

Time better spent

the less you vent

All verbiage

— to forego

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2026)

The wiring harness

connecting life

crossed

but grounded sure

 

Eluding sight

and force of will

its power

most secure

 

And only seen

when time shorts out

in flashes

not to last

 

Of red and black

and green contacts

that charge

— the future past

 

(The New Room: January, 2025)

 

Where have all

the heroes gone

Immortalized

in film and song

 

Bigger than the roles

they played

Magic lost

in time’s belay 

 

Where are all

the pillars strewn

Monuments

to highest noon

 

Closed are now

the paths they forged

Orphaned

— in their memories lure

 

 

(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)

 

While sitting as one

in my grandfather’s chair   

Gunsmoke on screen

a Dodge City affaire

 

Saturday night

as two spirits entwine

Matt Dillon to marshal

— our hopes redefined      

 

(The New Room: December, 2025)

 

Dark Angel

of memory

returning to haunt

 

Those musings

left orphaned

bone stricken and gaunt

 

In shadows

defining

what sleep can’t abide

 

I’m forced to remember

what time

— cannot hide

 

(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)

 

The shortest route to eternity

—  the Warrior

 

(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)

Inheriting

my shadow

Its legacy

dark

Willed into

my memory

Devoid

of a spark

 

No light

to define it

Or outline

inscribed

The emptiness

preying 

Where ancestor’s

— cry

 

(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)

The Ancestral Pen

when passing down

to heirs apparent

is thus endowed

 

Its ink distilling

what time cannot

a legacy willing

what can’t be bought

 

The Ancestral Pen

rewrites the tome

of generations

that sat the throne

 

From voices distant

to voices near

the torch is passed

— the future clear

 

(The New Room: December, 2025)

Spreading like covid

your words it infects

Through vowels into consonants

each phrase it subjects

 

No drug can divert

fated spores on the wind

Arriving like locusts

attacking within

 

The Muse has been stricken

her voice it impales

While spreading to others

each time you exhale

 

The body count deepens

your messaging damned

No cure in the offing

— dead silence at hand

 

(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)