Silence is unfaithful
Fleeing when needed most
Every ring of the phone
Leaves me feeling alone
Is today the day
With words too fragile
Did it hurt
A body going inert
Where do screams migrate
When flesh goes cold
-Thomas Typewriter
Silence is unfaithful
Fleeing when needed most
Every ring of the phone
Leaves me feeling alone
Is today the day
With words too fragile
Did it hurt
A body going inert
Where do screams migrate
When flesh goes cold
-Thomas Typewriter
Blind to the times
Witches work their rhymes
Old words linger
Within those castles carved from sand
A reminder to all who remain
That a litany of words written by many hands
Speaks in a voice raspy and sublime
-Thomas Typewriter


My words were never magnificent,
too full of awkward pauses.
too distant from the Muses’ golden songs
Until then
Until I reach that beautiful chorus
And words explode from my vibrating bones
fully formed
graceful
dancing
Across the page.
Until then I repeat
repeat
repeat
Stacking phrases and random words like building blocks
into towers lopsided, and not always lasting
more wreckage for the next
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
If failure I do now invite to meet,
please let rest my words, my feet.
I tried to resist this ignoble defeat,
to yet live a life more poignant than bittersweet.
But in the end…
As I had always portend…
My efforts, my understanding, are far too busy this week.
Which words are falsely dressed as fear?
Covered in coats spun from pain, misunderstanding, and rejection
freely provided by my own interior designs.
Labyrinths and fun house mirror started by another but self-finished.
My awareness has a dress code it turns out.
The words dislike these new wardrobes.
They struggle against the ill-fitting fabrics.
Most will tire and comply, behaving in new ways.
But a few, a gift-to-all few, will pop the buttons and rip the seams.
Casting off their coats, their nakedness startles me.
Reminds me.
The world is beautiful and I sometimes forget.
Why now?
Everywhere I go, a stream of words.
Everything I do, a river of words.
Everything I feel, a flood of words.
Again I ask,
“Why now?”
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