poetry

Landscapes never painted But yet they exist—of course—in real life—and—in my mind A still life—is still a life—just not wanting...

Life creeps ecliptic to an apocalyptic finale Destined to be a crippled eclectic Or to reach a speedy apoplectic event...

I always ask you what you’re thinking You always say your somethings are nothing I always think all my nothings...

As good as it gets A relative term in relativistic applications Humans always want more There is always a degree...

Thunderbirds aptly named pass overhead in reformation, blending into the blinding blue Hawks soar more impressively Falcons jet on their...

My shadow casts my next move My footprints write my history Repeating itself Proudly written by the victor Humbly left...