Inundation
When we met you flooded me with promise...

She gave me a personal guided tour of her mind
but when it was finished the trail of ironic...

Shadows of branches
furred with green buds stark against...

The dry air pulls my breath eastward
where desert calls in earnest yearning...

I want to be the hero in your midnight story,
the one you whisper to yourself when the lights...

It satisfies the soul to step back occasionally
and roam the smaller town main streets...

Wander alone like a rhinoceros?
He is too ill tempered and short sighted...

What if there were no more mountains:
when I stand out naked to the stars...

The
journey...

Picnics were made for rain
I’ll put it into this ballad...

Such furious haste
take awhile to grow older...

Nothing reduces
to groveling crybaby...