Early Poems


I’ve moved toward life and death

At the same speed

Changing vehicles when necessary

Stopping at times

I look around

At the new landscape

Realizing that there is no ground

Under my feet

I must time my fall

And move on

Desperate Fire

The future rapes me

And leaves me

Smoldering like charcoal

Burning slowly

I cling to this red hot ember


He is the night-tree

leaning in the meadow

Mingling fingers with the rain

he dreams roses

A Passionate Precession of Crenelated Tessellations

The recursive soul

Passed through crystal chambers

In a faceted eye.

He saw rings slide rings

Through him.

The flute he played bled

Eyes in the night

Traveling rivers red sparks

Sun streak

Lines of time, effortless

A breeze blows

In his sails

Pale stars

First shimmer

Green fading into night

Shadows in firelight


Deep the trees folded

Over darker shadows

Without ending.

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