Poetry

Jack Burney your Beautiful Dreams hide in a stream of black smoke trailing the Chicagoland Express on the outbound train riding through the great wheat plain We Listen to Beautiful Thinkers who quietly Tinker on the creaky train (drinking grain alchyhol at 3 a.m.) We are Gautama -Buddha Meditating like Neruda I Kiss those hands … Read more

​On land the winds do blow—for now they breathe The dust does sting. It leaves a coat of sand She loved the Earth gone now—dirt tastes like beets The dark of night makes haste, she waits for you The frost of night indents the soul—tonight She waits for you, in black the pale decide As … Read more