off the triangle coast of Barcelona adjacent

ramparts on the way to gone

wake the lark

you’re here in spite of it

fair winds not guilty

fingers and toes and you in the winter

they’re calling for failing grace

heart’s of soul

more then enough along the guilt edge

hold on to your tomorrow

all you have is the sky

the first of the last atmosphere

away from the moderns

to the unclaimed light

coma flutter

and blink

your eye

in pantomine

in transit take snake



town without necessity

alms to make amends

beauty on the high  

awash in the paper gardens

disturbing sheiks

dancing  backwards

twisting in Monday

sunrise postcard

greetings from mother earth

a silent performance delivered