No such thing as confidence. Unless you have confidence in that fact, there’s a thing. A trust in oneself, a humble trust that the self will go on. Maybe. As in confide. It’s a secret told to the self, trusting that it won’t be betrayed. A secret – there’s the rub. There’s no secret worth …
Every one of us walking in the park sees it as my time. And everyone is right, no matter how bitchy they become about it. Time for the narc. Time for the dog walker. Time for the loony. Time for the dancer. Time for the know-it-all. Time for the beauty. Time for the shy. Time …
I conjure and am conjured. My hands unleash the smallest and most medium-sized truths I know. The mind allows them through. The character plays with them. All that’s fit for discerning. Reviewing the chorus of my moments. The orchestra of happenings up until now. The foam from the blue and green wave that crashed to …
They gather to walk dogs. But the dogs would rather wrestle and chase. Neutered animals still desiring to play act at the game of “something’s on the line.” Do the dogs know where they’re headed? No. They haven’t a care in the world – except for the next squirrel, the next bunny, the next participant …
I’m an open book, he says. But his book is full of coded poems, only open for the thinking.
