17
Monday
Bolimiac-ly
she screams at me
In dollars and sensible
Feng-shui
The irony in her cigarette
Struggling over the mountain of antioxidants
I am not amused
I am not riddled
or ridiculed
The basement crawled out long ago
If you see it
in reason
Let him know
Let him wear these bifocals for one summer
I am out
Find me in walls
In the endless gap
Ego
Well fed monsters
It is time for a pendulum
It is the open season of bright blue eyes
Gather
Fire up your comets and chase the sun
With the rest of us
Listen
And
Always
Earn the silence
Expectations have always been my struggle. I see life as this great vast prairie and reason as the margins of our infinite. I was born into California , smack grab in the center of the sixties, an American. The blend. It had it's definitive and awkward effects. Along this path I picked up a pen and I stuck out my thumb. The road has compelled me ever since.
