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.

Stand By Me

Every echoed cricket wood
I walked the dark nights
lone road home,
every time, picket poke-stick would,
still bleeding this dead body lone.

I called the News.

Daylight, joggers see.
Starbucks lid in disrespect tossed on bruise.
But no one came for Thee.
No one wants to see,
as if you could shut off eyes
like lights.
Big T truth made into Disney doll
so Central stays a Park,
real heart stopping stuff,
to passerby is fluff
wheezing on no ears and stinging
not one other Eye. Here.
But my breathless worry
this last one long night
are those skipped I send to you,
lest you air to rise --
and kill for good
this cartoon hood,
Phoenix, burnt demise.

For sake of Christ trapped cave
TNT the Way,
either let the Truth decay
or bury it today,
but look upon its suffering and say...
Pass.

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