Educated from the Ill-Fated​

Don’t wait to return

Educated from the ill-fated

Decisive ability to divide

Than to unite

A tenous copper pipe

Winding through our hearts

Off we go




The hills

Way above the city

Where the dense fog lay

Is a town

Sleepy and slow

With shadows over the town

Trees and roads

Wind carelessly

Through hills and valleys

We rest upon these hills

And regain


Spilled Milk on the Red Line

Spilled milk on the Red Line

Veins of white

Rush down the floor

“That ain’t mine”

The lady with two hats on yells

The man

Visibly exhausted with his head back

Is not one inch close to conscious

As the white pours through the isle

Pictures being snapped

A moment catches

The woman with the bike laughs

Late night Red Line

Public transportation

Strange spilled iterations

As the winds wind through

The tunnels

Below the streets

Of L.A.

Desperation of Desolation

The desperate times

Desperate measures

Come up with something good

A productive measure

In times worn thin

As the veil of light

Through the morning curtains

We have to continue to

Rely on food decisions

To set us right

Day to Be

The coming days to be

Letting go of what was familiar to

You and me

A city

A life

For bigger and better

Discoveries and journeys

Letting go

While others hold so tight

That they squeeze the life

Out of the joy

Thy love

And love left

It will be

New York View

A grey off colored late morning

The pendulum of metronome

Clanks from within the construction walls

The paisley building stand

Juxtaposed to billboards and lights

The creamy paleness of the Queensboro Bridge

Speckles with lights and cars

Crawling slowly over

And crimson and white lines smoke

Stacks litter the sky



The east river is covered from sight

The land filled with energy


Magnificient architecture

Glistens well into the night

A New York view

New to me in a way

But still the same

And true


Delays in Night


Unfettered display

Of reckless disregard

On guard

Words with no meaning


Backward leaning

Back in the night

When the sun lies low

That is where the weak prosper

The forbidding go

Granite Stones


Underlining counters

With reflective site

Elbow cold

Down by my side

Granite stones

In suburban homes

This life we live

The truths we own

Lays on top

Of these granite stones 

High Times



Ask questions

What takes time

Has time to grow

Waiting for high times

The world we know

Holding hands and making plans

For the uncertainty of life will not own


While we prepare ourselves

For the high times