poet
I’m Dean and I throw words together in strange, abbreviated ways...
in attempts to conjure idea and emotions that flutter around in the skulls of its victims.
Beware words as art
Whispers of abandon thoughts
Change you they can
the fire inside
We pull the emptiness close as does a newborn its blanket.
Suddenly, FIRE rages and fills us.
The Drifter
Once there was a child who played. When older, the child and their friends began to play in the water. They looked at the islands far passed safe swimming and said things like, I can’t wait to live on that island...
on the melaton shores
On the melaton shores, inky blackness thunders its abuse.
Dean waits.
mirrors to windows
There are those of us who are lost, or meek, or afraid.
And we are not known. People see our reflections.
If we are lucky, they see a glimmer of who we are.
fickle memories
The fickle memories sneak, evading the ponderer.
Most survive unscathed, eventually caught, examined, released.
Yet some linger under the light too long.
Ten Vs. Vitalogy Yield No Code
Go? Why Go? Immortality comes when you Just Breathe at an Even Flow, and Release.
lighthouse
One does not find adventure atop a lighthouse, we must lose sight of our shores, meet in the chaos of the vast oceans—passionately colliding, evolving with every crash—slowly becoming one.
Our master in brew
Our master in brew
coffee be your name.
Your caffeine come,
your will be done,
