i dream of a world ruled by art where the letters that come in the mail are written in fingerpaints and tornado sirens sound off to th…

fallen from the nest mother bird leaves me to die never to take flight

they’ve never looked as deeply as… into the centers of your alluring and final eyes they’ve never watched you dance slowly and dark like the end…

she always turns a light on when she thinks of me checks under the bed to see if i left behind a kiss

still he saws at the legs of his Steinway old habits only die hard so he tickles the ivory cigarette hanging from his lips

incredible love making will turn wolves into pups bears, cubs again and icy hearts melt to a puddle

dying of cancer saying her prayers they came to bathe her she asked if would hold her Rosary… “of course”

my body is not a temple it is more like a corner bar in Wisconsin kneeling

the Allen Bradley Tower clock looks at me like an all knowing ey… it tells me “you are home you were not born here

you drag a soul around in a body and some nights it’s a bag of bricks wondering if there’s anything left to dream for

we fly down the highway looking for the next bar open on C… we each do a line and head on in flirt with lonely girls and take bumps in the bathroom

love digs graves all around the world but i used to