when fool’s gather to see what was done overnight,

they seldom look at each other’s responses to a desperate world.  They may go to bed in anger or fright , but they will see their dreams unfurled.  we write to share, we share to connect.  we contrast, and compare, we’re passive and direct.  this month we celebrate one day at a time, we climb on rhyme like Ferlinghetti’s mime, and squeeze fifteen cents out of each dime that we find. we fight crime one pep talk at a chime.  


begin to listen to the part of yourself that refuses to give up on principle and matters of the heart.


sing even if you don’t know the words; make them up as you go, laughing between stanzas, pouring romance into smutty outlines for the sake of attention.  next stop is one short and entering a new dimension.  this work of art is rushed.  that one is perplexing.  the one over there is clever and makes you stare, and the one around the corner is vexing.  dream with me, as our devices and machines sleep, and we protect their unborn children from some of our darkest concepts.



Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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