dream squence

tormants from a past ghost shovels me with music of acoustic notes.
clothes hung to high to reach and unsteady stools tease.
jealous insider followed with glaring looks and medicine to kills her stares
a kiss and a change of a face.
following with your past love and new affair.
mirrors reflection of myself of false images of time clicking away.
thinking repeatively when i sleep
and when i awake.

this river flows
drifting through currents
changing like a switch of a light
soft patterns of silk blanket the sky
picked up and buried alive
like thunder and lightning
sailing against time
waiting
seeking
finding nothing but tomorrows seconds running beside
haste is empty through the eyes
and we fish for keeps
nothing is everything
and everything is nothing
the best words are to dream
and the sun will pick us up like feathers into the sky
where we slip away
and go against this tide

dig and dig
reach a depth that delivers sound
like the moment of a beautiful word being found

faded and worn
slick and torn
tossing fire
from my hand
like blowing winds of sand
your eyes huddle like a hunter in the night
cracks of light
sweeping their way through grudges and spite
salt shakes wounds
while gypsy knives are under doom
darts are thrown from the blind
cosuming all that is kind.

moments unperdictable
like lightning stricking
electrifying the earth
a glow like angel fire
the sky can be felt
like warm sun
your feet bare
sand cool beneath your toes
a loud crackle brakes the sky,
and darkness becomes one
waiting blind.
still,
slient,
waiting.
waiting for another moment to arrive.

writing

Seren vibes float off the silk strings of the violin.
Dollars instead of coins being pulled from pockets.
The people of the train adhere to the art of the NYC ride.
Musically talented Musicians that embrace us with warmth
from the cold seats we sit upon.
A beautiful morning on a NYC Train ride.

poem

the pages turned to you unmasked
opened
and devoured
the taste of your hands
cold
soft faces
with questions of beauties that surround her hive
words danced
in rythms of their lives
the winter dressed in white
eyes wide
and the dim of the light
some do come alive
with the wakening of the night