oscillating back and forth
head tilting from leeward and windward
an abstract puzzling my imperial gaze
a Van Gogh in waiting

      perchance a reflection illuminated
      in broad mesmerizing strokes
      some tantalizing insightfulness
      else a superficial escapade

do the color menageries
stray my mindfulness or hold attention
each vivid hue enlightenment
to soothe & provide enrichment

    is my inspiration desperation
    to find meaning in the simpleton
    gravitating and debating
    between beauty and gargoyles

does incredulous creativity scare me
or woo me into submissiveness
the artist plying servitude
into mine cavernous cavities

     Alan Scales’ exhibit of
     Turquoise Abstract Landscape II
     provides fodder for my mind
     to exponentially explode

Andreas Simic©

your green eyes were as the mint

which gives good smell

and satisfy inner soul

let your sad out

throw it with your happy

and told yourself with confident

if the morning comes

the dark sure escapes

The thoughts in my mind continually race;
I need something to slow down this awful pace;
I need to hear the crashing of the waves;
maybe a peaceful mountaintop where you just sit and gaze;
Just something to give my mind some space;
A way to empty my mind, like a runner does his legs;
The kind of quiet where if you pause it gives you grace;
for me this peace was never a specific place;
it could be staring at the sky, burning in the sun's rays;
it could be a memory that lasted a second but to me it was days;
something to make me feel small, like I've vanished from my body without a trace;
My mind can float safely here as writing is My escape.

The familiar whirlwind of emotion rises up again,
a never-ending cycle of heavy, dark clothes,
a few light delicates throw in, barely visible  
and fading
     fast.
This weekly ritual, the pauses, the tone,
memorized down to the digit.
I grow weary, carrying out the motions and
Dreaming of the end, hanging it all out to dry
to be embraced by the ever-welcoming sun and its
loving, warm rays.

No lies escapes someone's sharp mind.

A bed of
a lad in

A lad in a bed of creased sheets catching crumpling dreams as the night falls apart,

I'd better start something or better to be snoozing?

Okay
It's
Friday

Friday it's okay and two sachets of sugar with one spoon of instant,
it smells hot and tastes sweet

My eye's full of glue and my head's a marshmallow, the day ahead looks so deep and my breathing is shallow,

Nobody says,
poor fellow.