Boots and blood
And dust and mud
Can drown no more
That sacred roar
On its own—
A mighty groan—,
Lifts heroes into local lore.

A man upon
A half a ton
Of horseflesh
The waves of glory
Won’t know when
His time is spent.
He’ll ride ’til he can ride no more.


Gospel Pt 2

There’s a note that sounds unfettered,

Heedless of the

Tone of the coming day—

The soothing mark of those untangled

From the stars that peer down, weightless.


Passive notice strangles reason.

Another fallen

Upon the roses under the rays

Of a blinding bridle

Locked down mere inches at a time.

Wisps of Life Escape

Wisps of life escape

Through jaws clenched tight against a deep’ning stream

Of longheld notions,

Too entrenched for daylight to evaporate,

Toward spaces drawn

Behind the clouds where there resides a lasting dream

Of sparrows blown away,

Off course, lost lonesome along waves of time,

But singing as before,

Beyond the reach of self-inflicted lies

(Those tiny falsehoods

That cut often into barren, aching fate)

And fleeting thoughts of

Desp’rate times, glimpsed black between the rustling reeds.