A dragon or two

A dragon or two

a dragon or two

I always smile a little brighter at the parades if I’ve slain a dragon or two before the confetti rains down.

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I met a bear today.

I met a bear today.

a short storyI  put my bags up on the conveyor belt and was reaching for my shoes when I saw him....

Prisonsong

Prisonsong

I wish I could turn that stereo up, drown out all the static from space. Schemin’ For The Masses,...

Nightlake

Nightlake

Why are we so far apart? Why don’t these tired arms sprout wings and carry me to you? SMS takes...

In This Decade

In This Decade

In this decade                                                                     because it is...

Asphalt

Asphalt

Let’s hit the asphalt, run it to gravel, to dirt, to the open frontierlands at the edge of the...

Hello is different.

No page numbers. No titles. No table of contents. 

It’s a cultural commentary, a protest against the conventional wisdom, and a call for something more.

Baby it’s cold outside

Baby it’s cold outside

baby it's cold outside

Baby it’s cold outside, white as the midterms on my desk, but in my head it’s a summer’s sky, washing the car with a rag anticipating all the places we’ll go in that red muscle headbangin’ V8 burnin’ rubber. The ceiling fan’s doing 360s like that mixtape from ‘82. I hate sweet tea, it’s as bitter as a misnomer but we’ll throw it in, it completes the picture. It’s still being exposed, down in the darkroom of my mind. She’s got the denim cutoffs and he’s got the aviators on his collar, biplane pulling the festival banners through a sky where the fireworks light the stars.

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I met a bear today.

I met a bear today.

a short storyI  put my bags up on the conveyor belt and was reaching for my shoes when I saw him....

Prisonsong

Prisonsong

I wish I could turn that stereo up, drown out all the static from space. Schemin’ For The Masses,...

Nightlake

Nightlake

Why are we so far apart? Why don’t these tired arms sprout wings and carry me to you? SMS takes...

In This Decade

In This Decade

In this decade                                                                     because it is...

Asphalt

Asphalt

Let’s hit the asphalt, run it to gravel, to dirt, to the open frontierlands at the edge of the...

Hello is different.

No page numbers. No titles. No table of contents. 

It’s a cultural commentary, a protest against the conventional wisdom, and a call for something more.

The Night Hawks

The Night Hawks

The Night Hawks

The Night Hawks sit in the old diner, forty years past its opening, twelve on the Charger parked on the asphalt in the back. Streetlight Cigars and Stubble Like Mount Rushmore hunch over the bar as the bartender washes the last glasses clean and wipes his beaten hands. He was a boxer, back when back-when wasn’t a thing. He’s got the starry night foxtrots pinned on the wall and a dream jar full of change, but his dreamer is long gone. The woman in red and her fedora man laugh long into the night, but all he sees is a window into decades past.

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I met a bear today.

I met a bear today.

a short storyI  put my bags up on the conveyor belt and was reaching for my shoes when I saw him....

Prisonsong

Prisonsong

I wish I could turn that stereo up, drown out all the static from space. Schemin’ For The Masses,...

Nightlake

Nightlake

Why are we so far apart? Why don’t these tired arms sprout wings and carry me to you? SMS takes...

In This Decade

In This Decade

In this decade                                                                     because it is...

Asphalt

Asphalt

Let’s hit the asphalt, run it to gravel, to dirt, to the open frontierlands at the edge of the...

Hello is different.

No page numbers. No titles. No table of contents. 

It’s a cultural commentary, a protest against the conventional wisdom, and a call for something more.

The Artists Of The World

The Artists Of The World

The Artists Of The World

It’s funny how every day, every day The Artists Of The World dream dreams, living their lives up until the end, throwing the dreams to paper, to canvas, to the beat of the drum. It’s funny how every day, every day The Artists Of The World dream dreams, living their lives up until the end, throwing the dreams to paper, to canvas, to the beat of the drum.

     Only to…

          Only to…

               Only to have one stranger stand in the wind and watch for a little while. It isn’t that difficult to find the sadness in the beautiful ocean eyes of a dreamer, of a poet, of a dance and its dancers. They pour their everything into stunning works of firework flowers and rusted windows peering into Providence, just so one passerby might throw in the money for a cup of coffee, just so someone would stop scrolling and pause for the briefest blink, just to capture such a fleeting feeling and try their best to carve its name into the face of The Earth. The very few that are lucky enough to have their names set in silver make it past the barrier of obscurity only for a little while, and then the world moves on to whoever’s next in line.

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I met a bear today.

I met a bear today.

a short storyI  put my bags up on the conveyor belt and was reaching for my shoes when I saw him....

Prisonsong

Prisonsong

I wish I could turn that stereo up, drown out all the static from space. Schemin’ For The Masses,...

Nightlake

Nightlake

Why are we so far apart? Why don’t these tired arms sprout wings and carry me to you? SMS takes...

In This Decade

In This Decade

In this decade                                                                     because it is...

Asphalt

Asphalt

Let’s hit the asphalt, run it to gravel, to dirt, to the open frontierlands at the edge of the...

Hello is different.

No page numbers. No titles. No table of contents. 

It’s a cultural commentary, a protest against the conventional wisdom, and a call for something more.