I  FLY, 

silent, fluctuating distances,        
emotions faltering,
daring not to peer into depths where objectivity trembles.

I  ENDURE,
unexpressed, in self-exile,
suspended between sensuality and reason,
soaring among mists and peaks.

I  WAIT,
inside the golden temple
of purity and forever,
veiled in trembling wonder.  

[proposed lyric for WB television's "Angel"]

I prowl the night, in desolate despair, you come to me,

Hunger burns deeply, like a hundred years in Hell.

You see my soul of darkness,
Please take this soul of darkness.

This is the face that you fear,
Trust in me and still your heartbeat's blood,
Don't dread for I am here. 

Tief in dein blauen Augen,
Macht mir ganz stille sein.
Woll es nicht die Farbe allein ist,
Aber, was ist das die gesehen?
---------------
Deep in your blue eyes,
Making me completely still.
It's not merely the colour alone,
But, what is it that they see?  

It is harshest, in there.
Painful.
Coldest burn.
A night’s long screaming shriek, in there.
In my body.

They think I’m in there.
Safe-like.
Logical.
But safe is distance, arm’s length.
Logic is non-existent, up-ended.
As we float in front.
Beside.
Behind.
A façade of ourselves, to ourselves.

I am out of body, out here.
Monroe,
Marilyn.
Norma Jean’s children lost, out here.
Unsoiled,
And Perfect.
Because this body is mine, not yours.
Senses renewing, anchoring me,
As we re-enter selves, be ourselves.
In you.
In me.
Home inside our bodies. My body.

I knew him.
Of course, I knew “Kick.”
But, I didn’t think he knew me at all.
Yet found myself, in dream void, sitting across from him, facing him.
And he hugged me!
Profusely.
Pulled me to him, greatly glad to see me,
And hugged me.
Wow.

Again Kick came,
And was there before me.
Even more intensely pleased to see me.
Beside the round, empty fountain, he came to me,
Considering me, as one sees an object unsure through murky glass.
And he hugged me, again.
Close.
His full weight toppling us down,
Toppling him upon me, his weight easily bearable.
Cool.

Kick again, near distant.
I didn’t, couldn’t disturb him,
Talking to my sister, he’d walked to her and . . . .
Lucky Deb. Happy for her. A fine guy on countless levels.
I let them be, left and stood alone, in Mama’s kitchen darkness.
Yet, he came to me.
Searched and found me in the pitch black of unfamiliar territory,
To kiss my temple; the right one.
Softly.
Damn.

Again I dreamt and Kick was below my garden balcony,
Taking care of business.
Uncharacteristically glad-handing.
And I thought him not knowing nor caring I was there above.

Business done, he looked up, mugged for me,
Did a little dance and bowed just for me,
Then came up to me.

But, my dream vision shifted.
The fresh sun brightness left.
I felt my Deb was sad for him.
And I felt, I knew his long ill sis had . . . .

I held Kick’s head hard against my breasts.
He’d come to me. Found me. In grief. In greatest sorrow.
Having known me only in dream crossings.
And now,
One word . . . .
No
One
Word 

An INTERVIEW with the Professional Screenwriter / Producer, who has written and / or produced for:

"Quantum Leap," "Seaquest DSV," "Lois & "Clark," "Law & Order," "M.A.N.T.I.S.," "The Cape."

And also TV movies :
"The Tuskegee Airmen," "The Ditchdigger's Daughters," "Paper Moon: The Natalie Cole Story."

And feature films:  "Brothers," "The Inkwell," and "Hannibal."

A Quick Note on How to Sell Self-Published Internationally. Quick Basics.