Meandering Down An Etched Path

Meandering down an etched pathWith vines & foliage on all sidesThe overgrowth keeps secrets locked& provides the perfect place to hide I know where I always wish to beA forgotten realm; a place no one thinks to lookReality, hatred & cruelty forever expungedI’m safe here – alone in nature – me & a book

The Eccentricities Of Life

The eccentricities of life result in a varied solutionNotes & experience written into the far marginSurrealist details woven into mundane worldsA quiet cocktail of banned books & Bombay gin

The Voices Come Calling

The voices come calling Like shattered visitors in the night Darkness expunged within thought Auditioning words; trying to get it right Vapid orations coming from the podium Stacks of the wrong books & loose leaf notes The dumbing down makes a tedious existence But ideas are the traditional spark of an antidote

For The Love Of A Rambunctious Woman

For the love of a rambunctious womanBeauty is all around us, if you know where to lookWe were always the weirder ones, knowing-Experience has more wisdom than your dehydrated books

I Don’t Need All That Chaos

I don’t need all that chaos I’m content with simple taste Up early in the morning To ensure the day isn’t a waste A prayer, a pen & a book Foundations to a solid grin Society can’t take it from me In control as the world spins

Coffee’s The Right Temperature

Coffee’s the right temperature A casual moment in my nook Perusing over my copious notes That one day need to be a book Not for my sake or the world’s But these characters yearn to be free They’re tapping upon my mind My course to sanity & their right to be

Radiating A Positive Vibe Henceforth

Disturbed Themes & Distant Thrombosis

Disturbed themes & distant thrombosisA hitch in your giddy-up when it’s time for teaTranscendental visitationsFrom dreams may come answers to our makeshift reality Pouring over the brackish tomes with devotionGentlemen & ladies of letters; luminaries of thoughtBut truth doesn’t cure our limited capacitiesBare harbingers of the illiterations we’ve wrought We’ve taken ill in our posh-marked