Writer • Musician
A marching band parades down an old Italian street of cobblestone dressed in black, Mourning ecstasy and the promise that they will not see it lived out. But they march on, baptizing all the children in the World War psalm.
Ode to Ralph L. Marvin Tonight was rowdy, inside was calm The winds hold steady A festival in His palm Looked at the bookstore Some holy land for posing, aging, clinging intellectuals Looking like fishermen Their last disguise Twenty-first century prophets hiding Looking for some youthful eyes They’ve got some last words from the wise …
Ren Michael 