first contact

of things that linger

a path is formed by choices made

the skeptic

can't chose who we're related to

his own loosely configured reality

splitting hairs

man on a mission

an ephemeral door betwixt and between

inside his head there is an in-between place where his hand can see more clearly

tall men and short women

i ain't no stick-in-the-mud

what is it you've been dreaming of?

the unforgiven

wine-soused mommas have alien-trauma visions

a head crammed full of impossible things

on being informed of the need to pollinate

the only thing the brain scans revealed...

one step at a time

he often ran into himself coming and going

the shadow without a man

the fallen feathers flock skyward, everywhere, dead birds rise

darkside of the moon

he yearned for a paradise of his own making

test drive

night birds

you know that you are (cold as ice)

look but don't touch

door to yesterday

late-in-life astonishments

snuffles

beneath his mask he knew himself to be dull