John Willy Kopperud

Those fast tracks always ending in a shrill shriek, branded upon young Lennon\'s soul. Penniman, Penniman, full grown pompadour, outlandish gestures and costumes

Only with your mind\'s eye can you fathom that large flock of Epic Tales sniffing the spice-scented air of these layers beneath human consciousness.

Watch that white-bearded gnome a bit down and left on the canvas with his pointed, hairy ears and the eyes rolling madly inwards. You might say he\'s run over by a train of thoughts. Such a sad

All night long in a pool of sweat running down the hair on my chest ...a discreet pain in the kidneys. These dreams layer upon layer. They seem all alike,

Still-life under the southern sun; Son House, Jesus, guitar and bottle. Picture replaced by sound, left hand\'s bottleneck. Clawhammer \'gainst the strings, makes the glass

While taking in the foul odors of unwashed bodies and rotting teeth, lice crawling \'cross your scalps, you wrote ballads of chivalry and love. Au votre santè,

One child on his own. A whirlpool of frustration. - His frown the mirror.

Inspired by the game of chess described in \"Through The Looking Glass\" wherein Alice is a participant. ___________________________________________________________ Childishly

Mayflowers pilgrims in the woods of New England - Poison Ivy League

Major Tom\'s blue face and his painkilling escape. - Needle to the vein.

Beyond the world of green in his open-air cathedral, sits the golden prince like an altarpiece. So loved was he that she would stop at nothing in her sorrow and adoration;

We keep retouching surfaces worn and altered by air and convention. And I touched you repeatedly in love and lust. Our child is a man now and the trees outside the

The swiftly erected account on the Cayman Islands shrank and withered when the courted one proved to be: A Rolling Stone all dressed up as a Ruby.

All these weightless years in a cosmic nights briefcase One eye for a bird!

Gautama, oh prince; no longer in the shadow - of father\'s riches.

Aboard The Soaring Pig our troubadour of dawn dreams one note that stays afloat with no aid of air.

God is greater than the scriptures ...and the scriptures surpass your imagination.