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.

Not Seen but for the Star

Some know I wave to the yellow ball
each every highway merge.
but let me tell you too
of bow before all forgotten trees an urge.
Every drive, car windowed blurred
unless the carriage stop in traffic absurd
doth eyeroll catch a single pine cone tree still standing there
for not  your roadway's genocide
its family, flattened all DOT.
So yes like Mr. Bean at wheel
I now bow to trees the highway drive.
As you go by.
Its roots reach there underneath
to feel such ancestors bones of sorrow still deep beneath
your transmission gas and oil tanks.
Standing there immovable, season in parade your days driven by
all but dizzy you.
Today though. Today.
We go by lots of trees and stop.
Leaned up on wall and chopped,
we'll pick one from the lot
strap it up a moose on Subaru stakes
and drive it Jesus cross by all those trees home. 
There, there
stand still now.
Here's a dish of water....
a pretty skirt floorboard border
to hide the awful truth of slaughter.
Ornaments and lights, a star abright
and oh yes... how we'll bow at glowing tree.
But me?
I close my eyes for just a sec
from Glamour's introspect
just to say a word
for Fred and Joe
so cold out there on Highway nine.

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