Seen
not undone
nor remade.
Certainly never
snookered
or forlorn.
Naked Goliaths
running toward white lights
seams bursting
flesh tearing
in mellow frames
of neon tomorrows.
Rest, ye weary
boots on wings,
schooners on rails.
May your mysteries
be elevated to higher seas
limned in crystal fire.

Quiet back roads
Late day light
Me and my cameras
And a full tank of gas

Windows down as I drive
Locusts in the trees
Imagining their tiny wings
Creating sound with friction

Wooden sheds
Rusted trailers, wild chicory
Cars in their graves
Alone and abandoned

Flowers in a cowboy boot
Hung from an oversized mailbox
Tied with a paisley bow
Faded from the sun

Young does alert
But I pose no danger
Yes, I will shoot them
Using my Canon

Empty farmhouse, still
Ancient oaks hemmed in by hot wire
Fencing in ghosts
And a few head of cattle

Trestle bridges, planked flooring
Once mighty
But still grand
Loud in the crossing

Steepled churches, crumbling cemeteries
Barns, silos, limestone foundations
Unexpected treasures
I seek what I don’t know I’ll find