In the days before the poet was born I was everywhere but not within My switchblade hiding in my boots so worn My mind was hellish bent on mortal sin ~ I was everywhere but not within Running with the wolves seemed the thing to do My mind was hellish bent on mortal sin Youngish rebels with fertile fields to sow ~ Running with the wolves seemed the thing to do In all the endless summer nights we ra... » Continue Reading
What if, on some star lit lonesome night, you went walking with only the memory of love in your heart and nothing but years of confusion in your brain and you began to admit that you were actually here without anything to figure out, nothing that you could see or feel or touch anyway, would you worry about dying suddenly without finishing so much of what you started or woul... » Continue Reading
I remember in the seventies reading so many tales of what the future would be, but I do know that past me never gave a minutes thought to future me, now present me has to wonder why I give that brat so much control all the time. Dear dairy, I had a moment today when I saw the death of everything real and good or at least it seemed that way at the time as... » Continue Reading
You, you looked so fine in that uniform you could have been a sailor, but we didn’t change the world quite fast enough for that. We failed only at staying together, star-crossed, not stardust, not golden, more like hardened steel slowly rusting, yet still shining 45 years later. We already knew at 17 that life was a series of survivals. I wrote o... » Continue Reading