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.

Cold Cold Dog

above the cricket beach and peeper reef,
so sad a Mayberry howl.
Repeatedly down the neck.
It is that I now scowl,
agited where should I chill.
Your every cry my heart in night slash kill!
Like a horror movie,
slit-throat gurgled drip, oh
stop I can't breathe I think...
not fair to hear such want in air.

Poor thing, so lonely outside.
Cruel neighbor!
That I am here to hear such haunting
is most certainly
my busineas
to mind.

And when I got all life examined
as to echoed pain out there ...
it stopped, as if to hear.
Well I sure hope Jung is right
a ghost acknowedge within this night
than agony some pet tin bowl
tired, tied down.

Either way, rest well
my best friend out there, so
close far up away.

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