I dress up every Sunday,
but only in my mind
My coat and tie in tattered shreds,
the past and future bind
To celebrate in peasant rags,
as memory dances free
Imagining in formal garb
—what only I can see
(Dreamsleep: May, 2022)
Destiny Marked
The wandering Poet,
so wild—so free
With each mile walked,
a new reverie
Eight Muses to guide him,
his steps fall in line
Their prophecy calling,
their message sublime
The wandering Poet
won’t stop till he’s done
All motion incessant,
all verse zero-sum
His trail can be seen
by those willing to climb
Their destiny’s marked
—their pasts left behind
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)