drink from the dream cup welcome those ghosts of morning don’t fade out, sleep in

THE ARTIST constantly trying to get somewhere he

stuck out on a ledge with no stairs no ladder and no one to catch me

Life is a series of tragedies with… But what is good for those who suf… than what is good for those who do… —for Brian Salvador Curley

tears glisten like distant stars unreachable galaxies alone in the quiet of space dead planets remind him of his gra…

i entered into my junior high poet… with such a sense of excitement to share the craft that i had disc… just a couple years earlier a craft that my gramma had

at odds with the sky I have rid myself of every feather and with my beak i have chewed off… of my wings if i am to see my dreams die

two mountains hanker to reach across the valley always between them

every drum in the world pales to the bang the crash the beat of her

into another corner bar they go climbing stairs covered in clumps… praying they don’t slip carrying s… hundreds of pounds of amplificatio… they set up in the corner

isolated Sunday bicycle rides tend to compel long winded speeche… character dialogues from stories i… and plenty of l’esprit d’escalier i speak with the dead

it destroys the essence of the poe… stricken with the stink of human no art can cover the foul odor generic mac&cheese flatulated

elusive needle hides from him in a haystack like looking for home

plenty more on that beautiful head of hers she’ll never even know it’s missing