There is nothing so acrid

— as the smell of time

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2026)

Arriving

like twilight

the Muse

spreads her veil

 

Where voices

once silent

crawl out

 to assail

 

The enemy

distant

the battle cry

near

 

As darkness

emboldens

what daylight

— enfears

 

 

(The New Room: January, 2026)

On how many levels

does true genius spawn

Is its gift comprehensive

or surgically drawn

 

Does it drive our emotions

like intellect swayed

Or stay pointed and focused

in only one way

 

Is it able to migrate

to conscience from mind

Can it cross a new border

or hill to be climbed

 

Will it outgrow the limits

indentured by class

Enhancing our psyches

— all borders surpassed

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2026)

 

You can’t fall off

the middle

Direction

yours to choose

Which way conceals

your downfall

Which way

awaits the Muse

 

The center offers

safety

Encircled

in the flow

Whose currents

hide a Siren

Enticing

— you below

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2025)

 

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)