To A Miss

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I, dancing in my own bitter disgrace,
Washed and hung out and my mind unaligned,
And with my memory I did erase.

Unable to maintain a fitful pace,
Body and soul so utterly resigned,
I, dancing in my own disgrace.

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Birds in Flight

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How a bird remembers the mapped travel,

It truly is a marvel of a thing,

We journey, so lost, on the gravel,

If only we could fly under the wing.

For mere men, such an archaic dream,

That no tin creation can replicate,

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Sage’s Time

sagestime:

I watch images of my looking back,

My tired life of this and then of that,

Listening to my life’s own soundtrack,

Awaiting a song, ne’er to arrive at.

:

I do find myself naked and ashamed,

Seized by the world’s ceaseless brutality,

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