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He has been prolific in his endeavor to find meaning in a crazy turbulent world. He has published extensively on online publications. An Asp Greedily Lusts Falls smells buried far beneath a cooling sun. Crisp air surfs along merrily on the wave of fallen red leaves. The crest waves fond farewells. Trees once fulsome, weep with impending sleep. They gather at the dance, brushed and content in their own hokum To revel in the gift of a cool, early morning tryst Arms uplifted in a Freitag stretch. The desire for toothpaste at the local CVS And morning headlines, Chiron streamed on Fox, Shouting of fiscal cliff to spring from and Isis Caliphates slithering saturnine sand castles-- Beckons them. Muffled screams, Somewhere a mother dies alone Bloody spatters like her hair splayed on her morning pillow-- Cacophony of brooding silence follows. Intent, He meets the crisp morning as well, Mother’s ruby luscious lips on his mind. He an asp in a frozen garden sibilates a silent message, Runs his tongue over his sandpaper teeth and spits at the world. A loudspeaker slices glaciated, silent halls. A Gorgon-headed storm, she assuages. Shoos the insistent boogieman -- That conjoined them in its inferno. Bubbling Cauldron in Four Scenes Scene I Three serene hags, contemplate the bubbling cauldron. They fabricate unbridled brews made of dark dreams-- add thimbles-full crammed with pricked pinches of this and that, newts' eyes and raven feathers, and a bucking-bronco pate for them to ingest. Scene II Brutish darkness floats suspended in the mixture-- moving pictures of angry apes flinging feces at their jailors, trembling behind Beelzebub's lava-laved dreams and steeds whinny fiery admonitions, feet clopping the ground with earth-trembling synergy. Scene III Starry-night stars smear a blackened sky, hag-nurtured, seeds, chew at will through intended hearts. They find there fractious disintegration. Scene IV Crimson rivers, hoodoos drifting among the inchoate. They scream caveats to the recently erect, now downtrodden bipedal, genome-sequenced beings, brew-infused, bare-knuckle walkers yee and haw there to stampede through sandstone canyons. Finis Ambition roars a tempestuous howl. The pot boils over them. Endless Chatter Carillions peel half hour- hour- reminders they fill in the rest with their palaver hodgepodge of vacuity in a smokeless room their sounds echo-- reecho—- lasting reminders of their existence in the vast cells they traverse. they dance through their dance cards walker and slick-headed grim reapers of the silence caned and canoodled purveyors of the lost last valiant efforts to be a part apart from the meaninglessness of it all they assuage their loneliness with purports of their being add for the inanities volcanic ash from dusty mouths and the hearers vacuous looks responders to the murderers aired ad infinitum in all the corners and the carillons peel on the half the hour and their endless chatter voids the silence the endless chatter voiced in the darkness of their moth-like temporality ended in a pfffith of electric air singed wings and the fall into a momentary silence
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