Author Archive

Self

there, that is me
writ in the margins,
inked of every line,
scribed of every page,
turned of every leaf,
pressed in every Tome.

           ~ ~ ~

Disparate

in thoughts parlayed at dawn’s window, thumb in pocket
could be me but I don’t ache chronic of a six foot leap
nor my guts beat hardened of lye, steady lunch of life
nor beset of Camels affection, struck early of an older age
sure-bound to be bound alone in pine
and gone at sixty Nine.

                                           ~ ~ ~

Unrooted

I am a renegade,
apostate, a mad man
bound free to frolic midst the roses
marigolds and lilies,
tho smote of thee,
I dance by devil’s Fury.
              

         ~ ~ ~

Terminal

I am given to perpetuity
ever faithful
ever nowhere Bound

      ~ ~ ~

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