Letter to Lady J

My dear old friend, it’s you we need.
There’s blood in the gutters, and fear in the street.
How long can we fight for a change that never comes?

In some ways it’s the same, but tonight the crowd they came.
Fists in the air, candles and vigils, cracked dreams held together with curses and wishes.

But how long’s it been since you been outside?
How long’s it been since you open your eyes?
Cuz I’ve been to the line, and it’s all right there.
And, I cannot wait to get on from here.

Arms bent back and black jack welt.imageedit_46_3885340131
Involuntary tears and the tears we felt.
Does it always have to get worse before it gets better?

Virgil Caine where are you now?
Did they bury the hate when they buried the south?
You got to tell the spirits mystics of tomorrow.

But how long’s it been since you been outside?
How long’s it been since you open your eyes?
Cuz I’ve been to the line, and it’s all right there
And, I cannot wait to get on from here.


Moderate Ignorance


On the stairway to self-preservation.

An allotment of goods.

A brace, some pills…none with thrills.

All rainbow arrays of impediments.

Difficult to imagine a day not perfumed by my self imposed…handicaps.

With a suitcase of vertigo in hand.

I travel the stairs, everyday, often with dismay.

I daydream about what it is I am attempting to avoid.

But that only depresses me.

Provides an income, where I can become further annoyed.

I can hold to self-doubt and pretend it is not the germ ridden handrail…

that it is.

However, my ignorance may kill.

It also allows me to live.imageedit_110_9303605407

My Swaggering Cave

Hints, affirmations, incidents of accidents?

I am engrossed in your swagger.

Your ritualistic offerings of all the matters.

Tis only organic to wanting absolution from all my obsessions.

Yet, some paths tread heaven as…a weapon.

As of lately, I have been loosing sleep.

Over indulgence.

A book of revelation.

Thus, whilst awake and on two feet.

In over, my over read,

under bred, head.

I now recognize, my knowledge does not make me unique.

An allegory of a cave.

Where I have placed stones of compulsions composed of inspirations.

Only when stepping outside.

Do I relish in the tears from the given sky.

In the missteps…

Do I recline to wonder why.

Clumsy Confidant


In your eyes,

I am something I am not.

But perhaps,

could be.

Better yet,

your quizzical gaze,

a mystic’s curiosity?

The look may appear to go unnoticed…

but apparently,

there is no place I go…

where you do not want to be.

And, in the thickness of our clumsy relationship,

a huge pile of…

steamy respect.





there you are…

my confidant.

The cog in my wheel.

The inspiration to my words.




I do not know what it is that makes you love me…so.

I only know that when our days are gone.

Those moments will ride beside me…where they belong.


foot 6


Vanity, living crippled

tossed about in prose

with little inspiration.

Truth is never that simple.

It is a vengeful game,

the circle called life.

Worn down to fragmented sentences…

it unfolds precariously,

as if it were a storybook pocket knife.

So, with its own pace…

off comes the pageantry of leather and lace.

Anchored down like a ship adrift in the desert.

An ego of passion, ages, less lace, more hapless effort.

These are not handicapped visions.

Nor, clairvoyant disabled, decisions,.

Simply, matters of the heart, at recess.

A recant of which…

foot 3self came first.

Let grace ring

Let grace ring on…

on broken wing and iron wheel.

Let grace meet the path where feet cannot feel.