

These times
Jackhammer & pow’r tool sounds
Rattl’ing windows
Prayer flags far too still
Birds just took their leave
Late morning already
And me not yet dressed for the day
Make me wonder
Are we getting any rain
Sometimes pre-dawn feels like a SOS
An awakening, born out of distress
It is said back pain and a broken heart
Are the tools with which we turn life to art
If the angst you carry feels as though it’ll kill you
Then for certain, baby, morning holds your breakthrough
Tremendous love, resides inside
As an aria
Weightless and burdensome
How is it that such fullness
This nothing less than aching
Arrives and leaves me
Walking
Feeling
As a ghost on Sunday
An otherwise fine, fine day
And there are no ears to touch?
The morning I think of giving up
Shades of moss green and orchid peaceably pull me back
As an elder, in Auto-Tune
Promising a child that dancing days lie ahead
An altogether different morning, now
That deserves
I deserve
A wholly-new and holy mind
Privilege revoked
At the dawn of a new Day
A third, final blow
Alone again
An actual text about spaghetti?
Anarchy in Our analysis
Anti-logic amongst us
A sunny arena today
And hope, always
And a promise, actually
And not really alone, after all….