Johnny Tel—do tell—the end to begin!
Since the birth of a soul, where have you been?
Is the art of the unspoken word
only to see the title or the fare that you dread?
Why are you hiding
a silent creed behind this encrypted mask?
Why don’t you tell us,
what lies deep in your sorrowful head?

My rooms of experience still scream into the night
a sea of despair for a child I am still;
while I board the junkie train
from Tutwiler tonight with a summer’s kiss.
Words on my face leave me with red eyes
and opposite rites at the gate;
and the burn remains upon my stained glass heart
with an ode to Kevin Nee.

13 years and a foolish threat
sends hearts on the run with the lesson;
while the grand and rust,
leave me with no disguise, for the name is no game.
Kiss, butt, dong was chanted
simply and clandestinely only to us;
however in Barnard’s Palace discover
hand in hand the sweat of hide and seek which won.

The Galaxy 500 put it into the wind
a birthday card for Jim;
and the painted girls go…ooh!
Suntan lines delivered: it’s behind the door;
and the token of her father’s eyes,
put on the face of generation “X”.

Touch of hand by a guest
I say to you with my face in the window;
led me into the sand, where the fence is never level.
A fool’s heart, when shoulder to shoulder,
seeks the rainbow end;
but like my grandparents said—
fatum is the last window in our house.