I envy her pride
How I’d like to be a sloth after we work out our lust in bed
I’m a glutton for knowledge about her life and her dreams and her idiosyncracies
My wallet is greedy to spend money on her–its velcro aches
but wrath has no place here
only more tender emotions and actions–
a kiss here, a rub there, a look right through to the soul
how does she know?
I won’t hurt her.
How do I know?
She woke up on the other side of the planet
I greeted her with apologies for any inconvenience but might I just…
share life with you for a while?
Might be nice. I’ll cook too. And do the driving. This right side of the road stuff–I mean.
Like aqua regia, I hope she’ll bring out the best in me.
Too early for all this but I’m always a step ahead of myself
and just like that I melt away in her arms
I transcend the rigamarole and feel…
I stare into the unblinking, amphibious eye
I move things around in the dust before daybreak
I watch the glass cook and the clock drip
I strain to relax
I look like I’m talking to myself, but
San Marzano tomatoes and fresh garlic flavor the faire
The illusion of choice consumes
Forgotten laundry in the dryer
As I lay dying, I retire
send in the clowns with the shoes that are brown
surrounded by the hoodlums and the rats
in the city where people beat on each other with baseball bats
fractured mind in the warm dark womb
above ground graves tied in with leaves to tombs
body language says it all
people shooting up Wal-Marts in malls
and they say they’re not political?
or am I mis-remembering.
bitten in my sleep
losing patience yet no choice but to wait
friends occupied while I try to kill time
a move to a crime scene
sweaty, dirty job
flipping between diversions
heat, more bugs
thank God for the food bank
full stomach, AC, on my laptop
peace and quiet
people who care
time for reflection
sobriety and a clear head
it ain’t all good,
but it definitely could be worse 🙂
My mind is an ashtray
Full of half-baked thoughts
My feelings are delicate like a dry leaf broken off the tree by rain. The trees inspire me, the way they never stop reaching–even if it’s in the wrong direction.
The butterfly flaps its wings. Nothing happens. Six billion butterflies flap their wings. The rain stops–for good.
Now everyone will be delicate too. A slug hides under me, a root under that. The trees make their stand. Water or no, there they are. A desert awaits a salesman who dies of thirst.
Thirst for others. Uncertainty stares up at me from the chasm. I want to jump in–what a thrill, though short-lived.
Upholstery ensconced and yellow and white paint rush by. Many dead trees. The fire got them. They are ugly now, aren’t they?
The wind pushes the door shut. I re-open it time and time again. Will I ask the right questions, see the right angles? Or am I too obtuse?
Other leaves are lighting themselves ablaze. But what are their stories?
Did he hit the train, or did the train hit him? We’ll never know. Could you blame him, I mean would you?
My mind is a dirty ashtray. Ashes are soft, tasteless. They stand for nothing and let the wind carry them. They are lazy. I want to be the cherry. Hypnotizing, captivating. I’ll try hard.