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.

Dark Island Sound

squeaktoy insistent
above sulfur sprinkler hiss
and sudden palm tree 
shuffled accountant
paper stack urgency in gust.

Bobbing bluelight breaks blackness
in the road, comes closer
googly eyes of dark abode...
to reveal people slipping in and out
of dark recess forbode...
for want of walk
or just to stir up breeze.

Tires seventh hole hum roll,
Cyclops headlights turn red tail
and carry stranger's voices aloft
like scarves in wind
making Red Barons of the island roads.

And not a single siren.

Well, as in wailing horn.

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