Song O’ The Willamette

Seek ye sounds and hear the collective bugle calls!
O’ osprey n’ lumbering locomotive bawls
Hear its honking trombone plunger muted feature
Garbled warble like the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher

Prosopagnosia

Night and day’s tied faces to the plainly hidden
Double helical wrapped Christmas morning gifts
Opened up like halos when street lamps kick in

The Antihero

I am the undrank cheer
and the spilled champagne
Of the New Year’s promises
that wind up supine, dead

Song Of Fawns

Stained holy the color
A throne for august queen
This vale of hearth
My elegant womb

The Yawper and the Mute

Niches determined by force
Like the gravity of breathing
And the sounds you make
when you dream away from me
Our hand clasped curious souls
crawl from their human cages
tucked under cotton bed sheets

My Town

I’m an erect middle finger to the puppeteer
In valleys full of folks sick of California
Doing their damnedest to make California here

Prelude To Winter

I remember the way my eyes fell
When she told me she was going away
There is only so much time for love
She said before making her getaway