What Crosses My Mind

  • When Wandering Headlights Weep

    In picture windows across the world, they watch, they stare, they sometimes cry, they’re the souls left alone to wonder, watching the headlights streamline by, like a slow motion ray of long wound catapults of energy, sweeping past the imagination without waiting wanderers, perhaps ne’er a question of why.   We all might wish to…

  • Toward Slow Motion

    I could dance if you ask me to recognize when we stood alone we were the same and now tonight, who would seek the wise, who might find the other has crystal eyes. ~ How often would we shatter an elusive game inside lies, suggestive reality the order of Man called upon we tame idle…