How kind yet well-worn were the winds

which blew over hills

to push the mill of Quixote?

But time changes temperament

so sentiments

forget about substance

and begin to carry anything

which turns

them young.

And so it goes the blades

were tipped

with a breeze

And bullets were helped into flesh

before the body

had time

to understand naivete)

(for Lorca)


All The Go

Waking with all the go

and none of the wander –


okay      –              there was no sleep

maybe that’s why

the lust

that usually



In dreams begin               –


Birthed of REM

and blankets –

real ones –

not the stars –

the movement

seeks its freedom

to make circles

just as easily

as zig-zag

and straight away


no matter

how the heat

would beat it

and suck vigor



There’s always strength left

in memories

to seek their start.


And none can be held


for the mess they’ll


overturning thoughts

to get there.