Down on Grandmas Farm:
Part 1...

Never heard a spoken word
that contained the truth...

That which rides
a witchs broom...

In the corner
of a yard...

*** i wrote this after liberating many Iraqi...
Scourged and beaten under thumb...

Neither is the glass
have empty nor half filled...

Peter and Penelope
two friends...

As in the scales of justice
darkness lost out to light...

Alone I sat on the hard wood pew,
back row and out of notice...

The night dragged on without event
my pulse raced nonetheless...

Sleeping in my car
temperatures so cold...

Away he walked into the fog,
the evening chilled my bones...