Sleeping with Valor’s Retreat

There are lines to this scarcity.

Hidden obstacles filled with joyless doubt.

Now that I am in…the dead air is coming out!

A covert world we all must go thru…

and, the question remains…

‘Will I have the courage to go without you?’

The grass beaded with dew and the…aromatic earth…

does not quench my soul as it used to.

Lying and dying have become art forms.

A certain style giving unto…laughing…crying.

Courage in the blinding light of day can whisk the unthinkable webs away.

Nonetheless, the night…with its sporadic fits of sleep…

Still begs for valor’s retreat.


Political World

We live in a political world.  Love don’t have any place.  We’re living in times where men commit crimes.  And, crimes don’t have a face.
We live in a political world.  Icicles hanging down.  Wedding bells ring and angels sing.  Clouds cover-up the ground.


We live in a political world.  Wisdom is thrown into jail.  It rots in a cell.  Is misguided as, hell.  Leaving no one to pick up the trail.

We live in a political world…Where mercy walks the plank.  Life is in mirrors, death disappears.  Up the steps into the nearest bank.

We live in a political world…Where courage is a thing of the past.  Where courage is a thing of the past.  Houses are haunted, children are unwanted.  The next day could be your last.

Bob Dylan





The color blind tattoo artist knows best about the matters at hand.

The vacancy sign owner, he would understand.

And, of course,

the lesbian porn star with no use of her fingers…

she would see the bigger plan.

The single blade of kelly green grass,

blowing in a solitary speck of northeast wind,

it  has held it’s ground since the gods’ created sin.

Above this blade of grass,

atop an elderly tree,

lives a well seasoned leaf.

The ancients have spoken of these people…these uneven events.

The vendor who promotes disfigured slot machines…missing one arm.

He is akin to this no see ’em charm.

It is the kind of poetry  found at an unmanned farm.

A recipe handed down,

dog eared in dusty nooks.

The kind of stuff that deserves a second look.

moxie 1