The unfinished poet rides horses of wild talent
having fled the chariot, lost to the sun
No More guiding ropes
No more frantic hopes
There is only holding on as the distances fly by
Eyes shut, landscapes unseen whisper and scream
Words pile and stack high
Watch where horses step
Hooves catch snapping across overlapping concepts
The poet tumbles down splashing somewhere profound
I am alone but not lost
From role to role
My soul freely flows
In dawn, in dusk
We are not separate but only briefly lost.
Too small for our roles,
Exchanging vessels till they fit
In forest, in night
I draw forth.
In ocean, in day
A pattern larger than our eyes
An unheard sound vibrates forever
Across one thousand talking fingers
Across one generation never more
The collective language of co-operation collects a colorful collection of linguistic collaborations covering the co-dependent and the co-independent conditions.
A murder of crows had a score to settle
The choice had to made
They heard what you had said
They heard your tone
And vowed we are not alone
Children of the Night, Children of the Sun
Our vengeance be done
Three-cuts-thirty
Violence plays dirty
Where water flows,
changes will show.
Wail till tears flow,
changes will show.
Laugh till tears flow,
changes will show.
Time passes too slow,
last till changes show.
I observed you in the corner of my eye
thinking my attention had slipped you by.
You writing those thank you letters
so conceited, so renowned
to answered prayers profound.
Reminding you in simple sounds.
That all your efforts will turn to dust.
That you never had anyone’s trust.
That you are unequivocally a creature of disgust.
Tears in the night
Fight or flight
Hold her close
Hold her tight
Soon a new day
Soon a new sight
Before Success comes to stay
His three brothers clear the way.
Failure arrives first, claiming he only needs the smallest bed,
But will take two and then three instead.
Confusion arrives next with too much luggage for his claim of an overnight stay.
Excuse after excuse he generates, staying for days and days.
Disappointment arrives last with nothing to his name.
Seeing everything you have he will complain and complain.
They will bicker and argue with no delay,
Destroying your house and disrupting your ways.
But in the end they, as much as you, will grow tired
Claiming each other has an unbearable situation made.
They will leave not with a thank you said.
A broken home is their parting gift instead.
But it is a gift, their visit as much as their departure.
In home repairs you will be employed
Even the areas you would normally avoid.
So when Success finally does visits, he enters with words so kind
Thanking you for making your home such a comfortable find.
He continues saying If I may
Could I stay a few extra days?
What role do I play in your life,
Husband or wife?
Am I determined by sex,
Or my effect?
Though I should not care,
I wonder if you would dare
to tell me
to reassure me
Why you love me.
Don’t answer too quick.
Please take your time to think.
In the meantime, I will continue my confusing ways
Awaiting what you will say.
Tick, Tick, Tock
Tick, Tick, Tock
Gazing out many faces of the Clock
Tick, Tock, Tick
Tock, Tock, Tick
Pendulums swing to memory’s flick.
Tick, Tock, Wristwatch
Tick, Tock, Pocket Watch
No more tomorrows
No more today’s
The world has tilted to yesterday.
Thomas Typewriter 
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