Out of My Head

Edvard Munch

Edvard Munch

We are that little demon

who infiltrates your head

we second guess

will say unless

while the world ticks along.

Instead of knowing why

Instinct suggests it would

involve your being wise

initiate some newer worry

in time our circle wound


Leave their lives alone,

and wonder about your own,

there’s plenty of time to find

a vacancy at home. Unwind

the raveling storm of discontent

relish beauty’s grace your true intent.

We cannot hope to find a way

to shake the storms of our today

if when we recognize our will

we choose again to simply chill


I walked outside tonight to scream

while further along remains my dream.

I Have This Friend

World order,

certain without upgrade,

just the managed moments migrating

their solace driven hopes,



turned isolation.


Solo vapor drift upon

an evening descent brilliant

to human need.

When all is lost we may know

together found a surreal landscape

beyond our control,

only play is that simplicity …

that young child ran the yard,

with smiles and laughter …

oh, when did our innocence become

a measure


While in a dream,

I did come to terms


Yet, in the morning,

a friend enthralled by a silver lining,

led my conscience toward

a valley,

lush with green envy,

designed to suggest,

we do need to recognize,

there needn’t ever be a loss.


Only time my friend,

storm driven emotion,

might even find a path.

Smoked Mirrors

We did agree to understand

that every word has meaning


the suggestion that one might hurt

another beside ourselves

seems rather grandiose.


A fair statement is the regard

we have for protecting our personal


we would abandon one another

if it truly meant an infringement on


when looking toward the sky

miles of afterthought are left in idle


would you agree that now you know

so it is a given I might be allowed some



then the walls are built,

the smoke begins to creep in,

under doorways, through the cracks in armor,

Every aspect of our lives revealed

we move so quickly,

we no longer see real moments,

in the glass that reflects our true


A Gambler’s Run

i would like

if you left me alone,


your mask of appreciation,

the one that hollers

from a window out loud

my success is yours,

I can prove it to you.


I would like

the soap box advertisements

of our easy lives,

to show the broken,

to emphasize the hopeless,

the ruins, disillusioned, detached

suicidal human beings

your protestations

leave behind the ticker tape.


I see it everywhere in our world,

the chance,

the moment winners look for,

the changing lanes that create a risk,

far less than the bullshit

you throw at our minds.


Leave the luxury in the window,

with an honest disclaimer,

‘don’t trust us please’

but keep serving the soft drinks,

letting us smoke,

just make the suggestion,

the mob in your pocket,

or admit out loud it’s us,


dangle your chains around.

Chosen Fog

A certain peace

a shallow view

misty rain waits

under a cloud of misconception

Unless of course we walk right through.

The bold imagination

a stark contrast to indecision

truly a wonder it might be

to wallow in the atmospheric velvet

of a morning sunlight

just beyond our reach.


Play in the mud,

feel the earth seeping,

wet, grainy, aftermath

that cling,

soft mettled reaction

to what just occurred,

what reminders we might have,

to walk away with soiled

naked toes.


On a clear day,

an energy pulls upon

our inner soul,

asking us, begging to be free

inside the sunlight’s wondrous


the heat that eats away any

foreboden aftermath

of conscious gravy.

The light only shines

enough to offer a solace.


On a journey in the morning,

wetlands teeming with nature’s truth

a slow cloudy mist,

a photographer’s dream

like a droplet of poured paint

on virtual canvas.


I did wonder of the isolation,

and hoped the truth might lie

in only the recognition

rather than my disappearing dreams

Silent Sound

Generations in the still of my mind,

refrigerator engines,

the dusty kick of a furnace,

signs of the fall,

the beginning,

when we with shadowed wing

seek refuge from daylight’s demand,

oh to shelter my reality,

another brief respite,

yet knowing steady whir

distant ticking clock,

steady sound settle slow,

we know it will return

all signs of a sunrise,

whether bleak sky or radiant,

our morning has begun.

Anticipate the noise of the day

to have sharp affect upon our day.

I Still Cannot Dance

Throughout my life I’ve tried a rhythm

yet followed I am by a worry of them

that soulful populace happy to dance

while for me if I do, its taking chance.


So often is the energy round in motion

while clever facades pretend emotion

speak to me sated with journeyed love

give my desire a sign from above.


Tonight, tomorrow, every single day

I rise to an occasional tedious way,

yet too often are my smiles new haunts

nobody knows, no-one certainly wants


A day in the life of a worn out soul

fragmented floating parts of a whole


However hidden

when did the initial words


were it be the initial innocence

lost in a wave of deceit.

How careful our lives

while a sojourn

of responsibility

defined in the beholder’s eyes,

yet, what then of Nature,

how might that sacrifice

become tantamount

in recognition, in spearation in …

When the planets align,

hope for peace,

pray that what we desire

become only suggestive

of a bigger picture,

a stronger will,

a loftier desire

to understand.