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.

He Went Back For You

Two two o'clocks 
I have just seen. 
I existed, 
this hour no more known 
to time! 
And soon moon sun dance
together rise, 
all confused 
and in the same spot stalled...
one.. will take the lead 
I surmise.
Someone 
took a bite outta the sun...
the dangerous, dangerous
clocks.

Pillowpause...

Oh well.
It's dusky for dawn 
that much is apparent, 
and the crows sure know. Horizon obscura though... 
ice crispies the leaflawn 
as I search the sky 
for moonpie 
Machomp-gone. 
My paces quicken, 
and still all 
copperysalmon coldsky
chimneypuff ... 
alas sunrise moon 
hides behind same houses,
same trees, 
but I see its fiery light 
on distant treetops. 

And that is 
the Sunday sermon.

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