But I being poor, have only my dreams, I have spread my dreams under your feet, tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

 

Not even the angels in heaven…


The physical life is a privilege

they all fled from,

but it followed them always.

Behind the door,

they huddled together.

And Death soon found them anyway.

Forecast

On quiet, sunny days off,

with the house to myself,

I enjoy tuning in to the weather channel

and finding a storm somewhere in midland America.

I never liked clear, bright days.         

I sit back, glide to any miles of fields

blanketed by downpours with clapping ambience,

and lay.

Leave the world behind;

my middle finger to them all.