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.

By its Cover's Cover

When you realize History is someone else's shopping list. The begin to wonder in Alice land part... all letters apply.
When you begin seeing it as a bullet list not yours, yet always, do.

I blame the chants we wrote.
The forced hexes they made us toungue-out scribe.
The Subjects
schooled youth ruth,
big-lettered scrawled
a marker metal tube and even called magic, vapor fumes ... and just a tip of
angled felt and bleeding touch
like painting you stained  brown canvas bag some woeful happy runes, though on Front
the epitaph each sinstone brick you listed out big big tick for bells of class in tune.

The subjects you are today.
A grocery each day.
From a deposit of schoolbooks they say
he sat upstairs and shot at JFK

The heretic you were to dare to go unsheathed and rabbit eared!

Shiny new they came, crackling spined with stories to spew. Almost wet inside so stuck. Not even wanting open.
Teacher said best prophylactic public thought and sheath it up while being taught.
The first Facebook page.
Paper, please. You cut me up!
Hope my bread sticks out just right.
So, you covered book laid out diaper changed before you
just to protect... its cover.
Manila matte spread neatly flat  on which to sketch
the so unique in you... while light deflect the shiny glow of  summer casting wink to you some hover,
a dare to dream in day some window on a class.

Each big letter earned in mass title you re-made you. Potatohead.
Big H history? Underline. Science?
Somewhere sure a Saturn.. . Art.... well.
There it Is.

Before you which cannot be titled.

But then in university
what books there were there had lists of people too.
So the rich tried museums and the yellow schoolbus to get you there
and that seems to have done the Work.

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