Resting restlessly within the dark of its sheath,my poetic knife feels expressionless.When so, it wants to be drawnand plundered into the white of the page.Then it wants to cut through the emptinessand carve out beautiful metaphors.The blade will glint...

Just speak to meand you’ll gaze into thewilderness behind my eyes.This wilderness,lush in dreams,barren realities!As I open the gate for you,I sit and listen white-knuckledto the voices within my mind.The further you trek in my mind,the closer to summery...

Heaven can wait…Death a distant thunderstormwith lightning strikes far offannouncing its distant presence.Suicide is not the answer.I do not want to hurtthose that show compassion.So, I’ve decided Heaven can wait.

Standing like a figure from some Twain adventure i keep wondering when drubin's gonna put beads in that hair when the fires came up from the underworld he spit them out with a harsh breath i swear I have...