Scattered Leaflets Fall Like Confetti

Standing on platforms after the last train

The scent of falling stars burn my eyes

Karma evens the scales, a jolt returning me back to life

Stir autographed story lines purposely forgotten


Fresh ink on old proofed copies, reminders still wet to the touch

Right siding my compass, the magnetic pull forcing a turn

Scattered leaflets fall like confetti, gravity pulls in one direction

Lining streets, cushioning my fall

Waiting and Watching Weathervanes

Imperfect petals lie in wait

For the gust to bring new life

When wasted moments of worry abate

And fading colors and muting songs no longer look me in the eye

Clear skies revealing once hidden mountain ranges

Open up, calling for me by name

Waiting and watching weathervanes for just the right moment

In any direction, I will go

Backward Glances Lessen

The symmetry of complicated winds

Follow a bend without an end in sight

As pages of signed guestbooks with made up names

Fall from forty stories up and settle at the side of the road


Folded notes telegraphed through two way mirrors

Ignore rain drop prayers that flow beneath the surface, unnoticed

Salted miracles covered in rose petals search for a moment of silence

As captive roads sing in hushed tones calling your name


Lost numbers found in random open windows

Lyrics without a melody tattooed on my chest

A reminder of the moment I embraced the turning point

Backward glances lessen, letting go

The Path, There and Back

Walk the path

There and back

Prayers tucked away in chest pockets

As sighs surround dawn lights that peek behind morning clouds

Knocks on doors travel past sign posts pointing west

And I should hear footsteps, but they are nowhere to be found

Yet I find solace in the silence of two branches, bound together by beads by the roadside, I kneel

A pile of fallen leaves warm inscribed names hidden beneath

I leave it there in its open hands before sunrise, I rise

And I walk the path

There and back

Whiskey Refracting Light

Clenched stomachs send waves whispering words

Birds seek flight as last drops of whiskey takes their time to find rest

The bottom of a clear glass covered in fog, waiting for an epiphany

Yet light refracts, distorting plain sight

Questions asked and answered, both uttered to and from the same lips

A conversation between one, sometimes an argument ensues

Hoping to make peace in time for birds to return

And glasses of whiskey poured once again