Half past ten last night Unveiled by cafe’s lampshades Two coffees ignored. —– Dark stains on a mug The babes of beans long since drank Lipstick mark lies pale —– The whiff of the hearth… Continue reading
Money is an illusion
Love is manufactured
Friends ride the winds
And jobs are a prison
Until it were naught but colored chalk:
Hurt’s said to make the heart grow wise,
Not a record of asking when, when, when.
yellow stepping on the gas to catch the shifting signs but no; meters before the signal line so pause, take a sec, it’s not over yet. he will wait. it’s his turn. —–… Continue reading
Child, let go the yarn that tugs you sky-ward; and gone, it’s gone, eager to play with the clouded angels. Pudgy balloons belong to the wind; but litte children are birthed of the earth
like fire-eaters and philosophers
who — for want of weed or sea —
ponder the secrets of the dying
embers crackling on the spring bonfire.