DAYDREAMS is a journal of my thoughts, the fiction that colors my mind. Each post is a thought of its own. They are not meant to be connected; although, one will inevitably toy with another. You can expect to see one or two episodes a week. They will mostly be prose; but if you prefer, you can define them as poetry.

Episode Two

I can grow to be President,
hold the world’s colors
on a path with no visible end,
a field of warriors,
each with a gun,
no logic
and drawing conclusions.

My drill Sargent calls,
his cadence is familiar
and boasting,
who-rah, and who-rah,
who-rah, and who-rah.

I have a quick trigger,
listen to the cracks,

The lines in the sidewalk
with armies of ants
that walk in straight lines.

Lashed to my belt
is a canteen of water,
beside it a stringer
of dry singing bones.
Their music is no consolation,
the melody haunts
and digs like a worm.

In a garden
where sin first appeared
are wreaths of white flowers
that are grown for the mourners.
There are legions of bees
who avoid them.
I think it’s because
they know they are dead.

A tally of men counting off.

Without any doubt
8 following 8
is an unlucky number,
trust me,
I know from experience.

b e g i n n i n g - t o - e n d

I am a retired art teacher and a wannabe writer. Everything I create is for my own enjoyment. I don’t work for others because I want total freedom to express what I want. All the work I post is original.

DAYDREAMS / RECENT EPISODES

EPISODE ONE