There’s hard feelings...There’s pointless waste.."

i want to hear the wind in the trees...


i want to be a wanderer again. listening to strange rainstorms and walking home along street signs in other tongues. singing Bob Dylan songs all wrong because my voice is hushed into a gruff whisper....

i missed those days when i believed in myself a little more often...

the world was new again and i drowned in delight whenever i heard a song
that would make my heart burst out loud and into color.

i dream in color.
i dream in red.
blood and wine.
light and life.
love stained brightly like dyed lambs' wool.

return to where my legs move of their own accord and
my arms spread akimbo before slowly raising to take flight.

traveling without moving.
songs without singing.

ocean tide and rustling wind rising to meet me
making music like some sort of secret laughter.

so i cup my mouth with both hands.
open them lovingly in the beautiful quiet.
close my eyes and i breathe out warm invisible air.


it comes from my inner furnace
where January embers still glow
from yesteryear.

and it must be my love for things that are greater than me....

these personal mysteries become mired when the stories stop arriving by daydreams. and the days do not pass without some small sacrifice on my part to forget what was once important to me.


to forget who i am.


past glories and cruel misfortunes recounted not romanticized.
i do not remain the victim but the victor in that i learn from my diseased triumphs


so i take these intangible desires and hold them in high regard for when these dreams finally die i can stop struggling against what truly stifles me....