Welcome, and thanks for stopping here to read selections of my original poetry and prose. Only half my art is here. As you browse my puppets, words if you will, think of them as empty hulls whose dance and form are only animated in Play through my vocal conveyance of their characters and via my direction of their tone. Lyric to the ears, its whole message soon appears, in thus the conjuring of ancient daemons deep within to combat the evil ones brought up infernal by the Craft of ages can be our stage tonight.

On this blog the theme is AWAKENING and how Revelation is not some story plural in a Book but supposed to be one of yours in this lifetime. Here in verse I share with you my inquiry to which has bonded Muse.
YOUR STORY IS THE STORY. Their horsie four so full of holes they named that way just to have a laugh. Revelation and Creation coincide, they never stopped. A daily occurrence in a Live Show me is true Prophesy which I assure you, smells nothing like a library book, and for which no innocents are ever killed. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you copy it to heart.

Before It and the Thunder Comes

Ah the hot-burst wind!
Snippy geists the brown carcasses dead upon the ground,
dance madly.

Crackle scatter claws.
Leaf zombie wars.

How dare they deny the hearts to whom She troves
a treasure in the chest ...
Science killed her but fell in love
with all that white outfit's best.

The storms approach.

She's stirring up the pot now --
mixing in the leaves,
to tiny tornadoes do I bow,
grace before She grieves.

Mother Nature's crackin' up.
It's coming. I feel it coming.

Outside forces checking in.
Or insides getting out.
Bolts of astral tendrils, oh,
such thunderous electricity!

To which News-show weather in a tie
even calls a moving cell.

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