Poetry

... She called to them from darkened windows, promising passionate embraces ...

...My little ribbed shell hides a desperate sigh, it holds an enigma for you to unfold...

...No names, no pasts, almost no world exists beyond the automatic door...

...words are not flowing, their endless rain has dried up ...

... we pretend our clothes are not threadbare, and covered in graveyard mud...

Sketched on the back patio, Leaves dappling the chalk art...

On my doorstep -- So different -- After so many years ...

...Stop giving me those looks from afar; The time is gone for the moment ...

...He pins each line of a shattered parachute...

...The bright prospect lights only frown as I stare, My heart's getting lost in the shatters...

I stand outside the graveyard gate, And wonder if I'm tempting fate ... (Originally appeared 2006-11-13)

I was looking for sensible, subdued, and reliable, but there you were ... (Originally appeared 2006-06-05)

Sometimes I feel stuck -- frozen in my feelings ... (Originally appeared 2005-09-12)

"how many words exist ... for me to say ..."

I walk in a mastery of the night and light, my money changers walk behind me ...

This night was a blinding exhilarant flash ...

"... open your mind to what no one else hears ..."

You crave for a rebel, so get it all planned ...

Shut the door ... leave behind the bothersome world ...

I'm wild and sometimes even heartless-can-be, I'm fond of collecting illusions to ruin ...

Then you think, "If it's normal, why is it so painful?"

... bury the blurry ruby ...

When dreams are not the same ...

Though you were the best both at college and school ... Well, man, who are you? You are not even sure ...

...pretend for a moment ... that I am gifted with eloquence ...

A fitting poem to end out Mes de los Muertos.

The only illusion-proof mind -- A poet, the voice of despair ...

A whimsical look at the life and death of a pet beetle, told in the style of Dr. Seuss.

... I turn every page/ looking for something to admire/ I can't turn these symbols into words/ the conceit of art is gone ...

Just silence. An error? Wrong number? Or what? ... A quick thought of you. Stupid me! Would you care?...