A poem — When idling nature proclaims her victory, smooth creeks of glacial waters will move the beyond, consonants become precocious, only to formulate the verbiage of self, hysteria populates the masses in ferocious ways, wisteria climbs as grasses populate the summer days. Your angels are calling, my friends, for they will depart, inside…

A poem for Madonna Whence acting becomes a format, silver specks in speculation, allowing oneself to become who they really are, timing never off course, of course jilted lovers are present, yet, you, yourself are at the peak of blatant expression, perfected as roses in thorns; fragrant as a filament. …

Perhaps there’s more than meets the eye — Perhaps the question is mute, but why do we do things out of love? Why Love? Perhaps someone has hurt us in immeasurable ways, maybe we are in a rough spot in our lives, so why not hate, why love instead? What is it about human mentality that allows us to see…

A Poem

Do we find ourselves in the situations we do — Simple. Life is simple. And complicated, it depends. Circumstances According to each circumstance that arises, either an agreeable or disagreeable outcome is sure to come. Or, we are at a standstill. One way or another, the outcome is sure; it’s there. This certainty then takes us back towards another more important…

A poem — When becoming, man or a woman, stringent is the demur, au revoir, constant bleeding, constant needing, a companion where God ceases to exist; although urning becomes verbal, sensual. Alluding to allegorical tales of dystopia, jovial cravings accompany satisfaction in the after hours; be still my friend, still as the lake’s reflection…

A Poem Perfection is an ally, the occupants on the floor of concrete, it exits through alleys; stained marble of countertops, placing reality in hindsight, the forethought of a future self, becoming a mere shadow of one, where comradery is forgotten. God, please have mercy on me. For what life…