I see evening sunbeamsstealing through the sky’s seams —I wonder what it means. Are they the streamsof forgotten cosmic dreamsbreaking freefrom the atmosphere’sholy levees? Or are they the cloud’s reamsof unpublished themesabout nature’s unforeseen extremes? Here on my hilltop’s mezzanine,pondering the world’s self-esteem,I wonder if we live betweenthe surreal supremeand the planet’s last scheme. Editor: ...

Flying with wings at full span,I am the world’s missionary man —delivering hand to hand,without needing to land. I’m carrying the world’s master plan:man-to-man without the middleman;no need for a photo scannor Fantasyland’s Peter Pan. In Front of us, there are miles of landbeyond the rocks and sandof Manhattan Island. Follow me, hand in hand ...

It’s easy to lose yourself Within the forest of memory When you can’t find the sunlight Through the canopies of your past.  Leaves sway in the bitter wind Crying out for solace. For light.  Warning you of the dangers That lurk in the shadows.   But you can already feel the claws:  Vicious, twisted things Born of trauma and despair, And living deep within your mind.  They reach from the darkness  With doubt, shame, ...

Sunshine blinds and the skies are sparkling blue. Don’tbe fooled: it’s frigid. Photo courtesy of Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay.