Fat motorcycles, trendy folk and hangers on, people pretending they know what the hell they’re doing and making laws between tequila shots, getting married, getting buried, kicking sand a long way from the beach and no art, no God damn art, unless you think its therapeutic and then we’re all artists. I hear thunder in…
When I was a boy, I listened to this song. You cannot hear it now, I know. There are a lot of songs you can’t hear anymore. The Song of Roland; the song of my heart when first we kissed, the Song of Bernadette. No, I never kissed her; the song of half a dozen…
Stop asking as though you had a right to anything but the chance to keep trying. Stop complaining. Stop planning to retire and give thanks for the job. Invent some way to make life better for anyone but yourself. Tell fools the truth. Fight only to the death. Live beyond your means in love until…
I’ve just about lost count, haven’t you? Who is it this time? How many shot dead and duly recognized? I’ll tell you what it means if it means anything at all, Old Glory in decline, the lowering of all we held sacred until the banner never meant to fall itself lies useless, lifeless on the pavement. What…
Long hair, long as corn silk, looking down at nothing but the ground, through iron, gears and engineering, waiting to go, waiting to be told what next to do, dreams unplanted in your heart and soul upon the tractor. Waiting to be free, the damsel sitting on the dragon, face downturned, holding on to power…
In this world of sudden death, In this world of explosive violence, In this world of fear and apprehension, In this world of concrete poured endlessly, In this world of guilt, anger and despair, In this world of warning signs and fines and meaningless procedures, In this world of horror and terror and bombastic utterances…
Burst of sunrise. Miracle of color atop an otherwise green stem. Statement of passion. These colors mean nothing. You reflect who I want to be, who I am. ♥
Let’s not do it. Let’s not go down the dusty road to death. We’ve built so many roads. Are none of them upward tending, over whatever obstructions we may find in our way? Or are we destined now to drive or ride in circles, forever longing for where we started, but lost destinationless and bored…
The pickle is a lowly fruit, or is it just a veggy? Some say they’re really very good, but dills just leave me edgy. Gurkins have a sweetness which cannot be denied, but when I find them on my plate, I invariably hide them underneath a lettuce leaf or accommodating chip. Or better yet find…
How did it feel? One followed by all those zeroes, A couple commas. Those must have been the interruption between triplicate noughts. The sleepless, nervous, anxious, unspoken apprehension of what it means to strive for what only can be counted, never kissed or held in warm embrace, never smiled upon or smiling back, the world…
