On boulevards of broken dreams where the sidewalk ends touched again by memories only to end as a fantasy with a broken heart and wrinkle nose from the incense, I suppose, knowing how this symphony ends on boulevards of broken dreams
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Stories
Memories of conversations and a penny's worth of sawdust. Is there a heaven? Mom said there was. With unicorns and porch swings. She would take me in her arms and hug me. Touching my cheek with her tears as she passed, with a penny's worth of sawdust in h...
Death takes no middle ground I might as well be a ghost running helter skelter between late and early past my epithet as I pull a rabbit out of the hat feeling not afraid but pocket lint has no place in my soul or emptiness leaving me half full
My soul is my gothic violin with the bow of the picador played softly in solo in the world of my dark oyster warming my marrows blood running cold in a caravan with a melody of strings and the madness it brings fathoms deep among the dead... my soul is my...
Moonlight dancing over silent waters gently flowing over soft quarters across stones and leaves of caravels cascading over the water mill of my mind as heaven in all its glory shines lighting the golden pond with the water that has past gently flowing ove...
Beyond the realm of dawn's twilight where wind makers bring sighs soaring with angels reaching the sky as the stars resemble lamp-lighters and the dream-maker stands as old as the treebeard
Evermore forever the rainbow no darkness between my feet only the sun and memories to rejoice your voice from crimson fields of your lips and mascara shade of your smile beneath the willows of butterflies dreaming
A shadow of screeching silence in a silhouette of all my fears a nocturnal coronation of widow wax dark as the ferries of night of my fleshless anatomy dragging my melting crayon wrapped in loneliness listening to the agony as it drips my forgettable
I come from hell a naked Amoeba to enter a cell called flesh it is my tomb with some growing room through the eyes of my muse and the laudanum fumes pale as pewter eyes of dark's covenant the veil is rent I see her true my tendrils corrupt the heathen wom...
Buy me a song of tomorrow holding hands with memories listening to the winds in the silence of a rainbow before the breath of dawn kisses the dew on your lips a shadow of my beloved as time becomes, another tomorrow.
In comes the wind and Illuminati touching my skin sleeping naked in unadorned metaphors echoing serenity no time for gauchos or cowboys on the Pampas escaping the whispers of makers and takers and near-illiterate listening to the sounds as the coffee drip...
Who is adoring and who is not assuming life is paper mache and death is the final echo, listening to the rainfall. But life is busy, yet, we need more and cannot pass up hope, keeping score. There has to be a reason for a recurring voice and temptations,...
Whispering God's, day ago prayers, if I could only touch your face without leaving fingerprints, for death is a naked shadow without layers of clothes, in old photographs, from your body to my mind in life's curiosity and curios, of our love's fancy seren...