…or None At All

Found, lost and waiting in

The midnight-lounge,

Where the coffee jugglers

Seek entertainment, recreation

Playing games with the hobbled

Midnight’s lame-wheeled trolleys. Continue reading

Kissing The Madness

When I think,

Think of the space I left behind,

Beneath those happy-stars,

Between those friendly-hills,

Before those deep-green, lover-eyes.

The place I left behind

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It’s Been Raining

Drum comes in; steady and

Lacota-Sioux, ghost- beat strong.

She’s standing, tall and proud

Behind silk scarfed microphone

In seen-better-days snakeskin boots;

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The Midnight’s Gone Refrain

In the heart of the
Too-tired-for-sleep hour,
Insistent but near-silent
Sioux beat echoes of the
Midnight’s Gone refrain
Reverberate inside my
Young witness skull.

Pausing, horizon capering vixen,
Abroad on appointed assassin duties –
Lifts radar raider muzzle to
The hunger constellations
As if sensing the vibrations
Through whisker tips,
Witch hat ears.

Murder bound, beneath this
Butcher button moon
And chicken-stealer sky.
She will never accept
Cold-season excuses,
Will not betray me;
I cannot condemn her.