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.

Mom and Football

The Barons in the Party ranks
laid waste coffers domestic Treasury
whilst stop the flow money the hometown banks
they send it 'stead friends overseas
to pay foreign rifles blood sand smear
and killing freedom pleas.

But Sunday came instead,
before Monday's tenth vote not read
and all the steeple and sheeple bed
lulled pied piper paid talking heads of Red
And right out NF Fell for it like lead.
Super score the day!
Kitten Kit and
Kaboodle
not miss locked up Knox
shorelines, trashy Parks
Empty Coast Guard docks
airport security reek blow up socks
Rootin tootin teams on field hard knocks
Halftime, see the fridge is stocked.

They shot a 43 year old mom
in the head a hundred
Yards away.

Touchdown!
Bloodzone 23 and me for
which you each week pay.

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