His tiny voice
His titanic heart.
The worlds sorrows
Did him drown.

Shells rain down on Arabs
The world glances
Then passes by.
Marshmellows drizzle down on the West
The world a splode.

A Work in Progress.

She decorates her eyelash
She applies finishing touches
Glowing in the starlight
Of her mirrored compact.
Rolling through the streets
On a swerving force of nature
With a suped-up V8 engine
Playing follow the lead.

A goddess in disguise
A universe of sequins
Smiling from beginning
For a magical evening.

She steps up to the doorway
She's a vision in a red dress
A lady bent on conquest
Leaving little else to say.
But nothing goes to plan
And night bleeds into ruin
He taunts her like their children
Dressed like a fully grown man.

And she is a ship between the icebergs
Looking her best
In that stunning dress
And runnels down her cheeks.

Three Presents Pulled from a Mixed Bag

Salvation sometimes is
A mixture of blessings.
When holding a seed to the light
I find myself counting into the future,
One, two, three, perception expands
Behold a tree, drinking deep in desert sands.



That man is born into sins
And borne out to the self
Is a question beyond answer.
He pools himself
In shattered shadows
And rolls the ground
Beneath his tread.
Till yesterday is smooth and narrow
And tomorrow is a rocky bed.

Cozened embrace
Processed air fluffs
My marshmallow hairdoo.
I refill my shotglass.

Fly My Pretties.

Over the silent storm
Beer couched in a sweating palm
Conversations flutter
Back and forth, back and forth.
Function follows form
As gazes swallow alarm
And toothless jibes are uttered.

Bequethed a sundered sunrise
Fly my pretties
I'd hoped for better
But the weather
Not a cloud in the sky,
And a star shining north
Like a beacon of hope.