Sixth Sense

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The air I finally touched

And found it covered in humanity

Chiseled, curved

Rigid, as it can be, and supple where it should

The air felt broken, but, marked with hope, was actually whole

Smelling of dust from the Day-in-Day-out and the patient, rainless years

I asked it to kiss me nevertheless

I’m glad it did, for I learned

There, on its lips, was the taste of us, each of us

I felt unsurprised

How I Do

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How purely awful it would be
Were I a puppeteer
As if my vision for these dolls
Be more brilliant or more clear
Than dreams and hopes that they themselves
And The Creator too
Have knit within their very hearts
To which they ought make true

Release the strings I’m duty-bound
Performed with my delight
My sole request you let me gaze
Upon your gorgeous flight
And should you wish here is my hand
Holding my firm promise:
I’ll sing “Freedom,” honor your walk,
Applaud what you call bliss 

Wild Blood

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Each new day the dust and frenzy are more hard to contain

It’s clear I’ll need that cowhand after all -irreverent as he is

And leather, and spurs of solid silver, and who knows how many inches of rope

This will cost me

Damned thoroughbred

Paint Fire Awake

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My theme song
Sceaming the theme
Fire and belief
Wakes me up

A 1am urge
To oil paint
Big broad strokes
Revealing chiseled flames

In brick red
I think yes
It’ll evoke fire
Mine, the subject’s

Theme song ready
Brush and canvas
Us awake now
Fire believe it