It’s the boy holding flours

It’s the boy holding flours at your doorstep and all you can think about is that maybe someday he might hold hands with you.  This is somewhere around the time where Sinatra crooned about Guys and Dolls, and Freddie and Ginger Waltz in the background.  “You are a murderer of love,” the die-hard honest fourteen…

Jacob’s song

when you you made a universe when you you made the sacrifice when you you lost a son when you you became a father for all the lost, the broken, the sick, the weary souls that were roaming in the dark when they were searching for a spark of hope replacing all their misery with…

Typing to Coldplay

These fingertips will build a future made with words and structured with the literal dexterity of my imagination and propelled by the enigmatic fortitude and pathos engendered by music.


They need outlets Without energy, cut off Even batteries Eventually run out Without electricity All parts useless Subject is object Word document is empty Social network disabled No new mail. No new activity. Without outlets, computers are boxes. Screens, walls. Without outlets or communities. People, statues.

Living in a shoe Waiting for you

Criss-cross applesauce And three text messages tell you I’m happy. One-two buckle my shoe and I might believe in love again. Jack be nimble, Jack be quick Inflating my heart with dreams is my new trick. I couldn’t be me without counting to three and hoping for One day with you, a baby and me.