i whispered
my love to the
rising sun
the light swelled
into a vibrancy
that washed out
the last of
night time as
it clung to
the sleeping city
the sparrows
sang a sad song
of acceptance
as the silent
sun swept over
the echo of
fading dreamthunder
as i sat desperate
for a sign.
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
I love the word “tackle-box”
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there was a factory in Plano Illinois that made tackle boxes. as a kid, my dad would take me on service calls and once we went there and i got see how the hydraulic presses forced the molten plastic into shape. years later i worked on the same machines. funny how life goes in loops we cannot see.
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tackle boxes are awesome.
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