The Gypsy and The Gypsy Wannabe.

I don’t have idols. Idols will let you down, You see, they have one Achilles heel: they are human-beings. What I do have is individuals I immensely respect. Men and women who I have known who have done, or at least tried to do, things of importance. Importance to the world, their community, or maybe they’ve simple made the space around them a happier, gentler place while they walked on the … Read More The Gypsy and The Gypsy Wannabe.

…….those who have no sense.

No matter what they ever do to us, we must always act for the love of our people and the earth. We must not react out of hatred against those who have no sense. ~ John Trudell.   This is a hard one for me right now. John Trudell is a poet, musician, and activist. He has faced some terrible moments in his life. His … Read More …….those who have no sense.

The Sunrise Cementary

1 Unplanned trees grow tight around the Hokenson baby’s birth date as I move from grave to grave. Sad lovers with milky eyes that didn’t survive the war, the markers show the names of some who lay alone and others who wait for partners, who continuing to create picnics shared with friends skipping stones in the river, and listening to the flop, plop, as … Read More The Sunrise Cementary


Your sound folded out over a field of blue and yellow flowers as you lagged behind. You called them dog lilies and shook their pedals, forcing them to laugh off the dew of sunrise.   Though we can still move together, for some time the spaces between our steps have been without design, simply combing the time before with now.   You use to … Read More Untitled-One

I Want To Run With Scissors

I want to run with scissors. Sniping into the air with a perilous swagger clipping at music confused by modulation and lost by fragments of beat, and with fine edge tweezers extracting tiny particles floating from the speakers of my radio never vibrated by the treble of Leon Russell and Delta Lady. I want to shear the smell of chocolate from my memory and … Read More I Want To Run With Scissors

My Next Lover

My next lover will be an old soul strolling with Sinatra  and Morrison hand in hand. He’ll eat thick fat steaks medium rare with only salt and pepper. Not always polite, but always kind he will laugh when I trip over the top step. And then his hand  will grab my wrist. He will be ardent and authentic, as we laugh at pictures of cats, and the old people … Read More My Next Lover

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