poems

The woods of my imagination are wild, hung with violet vines and packs of tattoo blue raccoons who know me better than I know myself. They scurry through lavender grasses whispering truths and lies, dropping seeds in my hair and hiding planets in my pockets. When the wind shifts, I find them by the fragrance of the beyond…and then I write.

I Get Found, 1974 – Empty Mirror Magazine

Woke Up This Morning – Quail Bell Magazine