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.

Wilbur and Wrong

There's just
Wilbur and wrong.
My time machine
my River lovely Song
my TARDIS lands
socks underneath
dead witches in grief
off cliffs some beach
push Wright brother each
and save whole planet,

no planes
no rockets
no Nazis in pockets
no bombs ever dropped
no gasses death propped

The sin of flight
for those below.
Lest I bring up mad weather
setting Nature right
the Hurricanes in tow.
Poor us not flying.
Billions not dying.

Take a stagecoach.
Comfy porthole, waves.

Leave us birds alone.

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