Fair to Middlin' (Paperback or Softback)

Fair To Middlin’ Cut Up Prose Poem

This moment look around surrounded taking notice eggs over easy eat one throw one light from long ago where I need to go talk about it: how odd to snuck a duck it’s more than looking dark plume nebula river air bubble ripples Highway 51 ain’t nothing being measured in my dreams behind me walls that’s how the fox ran I notice gloomy front room curtains just write descending quality dusk blue sky TV muted has he heard me? Stop. When to quit surprised, she says the milky way waking up three green leaves what we say what I need what are you doing where would I go I saw Mark Anthony backwards and full all true alone in a bit soul problem who’s there screamed whatever matters deranged easy blended calling up not ever stopping ain’t that something still nothing on a bridge the fella says the sky everything is unusual evade evade things she’s nervous evergreen magnolia silent the mood being there exploded wet Sunday he’s the sun made clouds massed who cares I could be not yet done finely wrought tooth and claw a purple moor on show mind wide open powerful them cows lowing heard alone across the sky wild imagining the center true cheeky a fiddle low and sweet space girl imagining a treeline horns blowing please be kind all this life long.

About the Author

Natural born human, son, friend, father, poet, spouse, songwriter, harp man, kung fu man, the sky, the path, the way, Kentuckian home body, Alaskan dock boss, Korean sword man, Bristol boy, all identities myriad lives in body and mind, in spirit—here I am in these lines—some part of me to listen to: read these words aloud in a semi-southern drawl. As Hank said, if the good lord’s willin’ and the creeks don’t rise...we’ll see you somewhere down the line.

Natural born human, son, friend, father, poet, spouse, songwriter, harp man, kung fu man, the sky, the path, the way, Kentuckian home body, Alaskan dock boss, Korean sword man, Bristol boy, all identities myriad lives in body and mind, in spirit-here I am in these lines-some part of me to listen to: read these words aloud in a semi-southern drawl. As Hank said, if the good lord's willin' and the creeks don't rise...we'll see you somewhere down the line.