I am the runner in the liminal
You know, that long rug in the hall.
That thing you walk over to get to the door
All frayed in the middle from the kitty-cats claws
I am the runner in the liminal
The ouroboros' shedded skin
Something that fades into the abstract
Until it catches your eye again.
I've been laid down so you can tread on me.
As you get to where you need to be.
I'll still be under feet
When you're ready to leave you'll
Please the fibers I need you to knead
I'll be-
Beneath
Stampedes.
Worn in the middle never at the seams
I've been rolled up and moved
Out to the porch
To be pressure washed with chemicals
Hung out to dry, then left outside
For a while
It must feel naked in the liminal without me
I'll be spread out on the floor
Like so many times before
With one part admiration
One part resignation
I've always served my purpose
Do you really need something more?
I'll be-
Beneath
Stampedes.
Ignored until the dog comes to **** on me.
I am the runner in the liminal
I am become part of the hall
I'll see the daylight through the window of an open door
Till it's closed
Then I'll breathe in the darkness
and the stale air between these walls.
Oh I'd love to be a tapestry
A conversation piece
But I'm not quite shaped right
And who'd hang me up proudly
When I've already been
trampled under feet.
I've been put down so you can tread on me
I've been stretched out so you can walk on me
Stride across. Walk on me. See me in your periphery.
It's what I want.
Indignantly.
All I've ever sustained
consistently.
I've been here persistently.
Part of the rhythm of the stride
and the frequency
Till rubber of the mat starts to bleed through me
And you start to feel the texture in the soles of your feet
There's something different than it used to be
Have you already got so much use from me
Has my wear caught your eye
So intrusively
To where every time you look it's all that you see?
...
Does it feel naked in the limin now without me?
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 8:47 PM UTC
I'm still laying in the tryst
in the triste
in the cold of heated passion
in the shadow of eclipse
A fleeting breeze cuts sharp and free
but it's not perfumed these days.
I may never leave this place.
And there's no one here but me.
The birds sing mating songs I envy,
With their beautiful simplicity.
Someone's blocking out my light
And there's no one here but me.
Our stains adorn my sheets of leaves;
A patina to the fruitless the tree
We planted to watch grow together
And there's no one here but me.
My shadow's seeped out of my skin,
Reflecting the without within.
I knew, I Knew we'd reunite
And there's no one here but me.
In the tryst,
In the triste,
In your purgatorial absence
I can't cross the river Styx.
Jan 9, 2025
Jan 9, 2025 at 11:57 PM UTC
To those who've made lucrative professions of false professions
Who pretend to portend
Imitators of prognosticators
May the light of truth burn the tongue of deceit
and eclipse proclaimed falsehoods
Lying liars low
And exalting the wisdom of silence
Jan 9, 2025
Jan 9, 2025 at 9:59 PM UTC
I dip the quill of intention into a font of temptation.
I write pretty words on a blank page
To watch them all get sullied.
I draw the ink of inspiration from well of Russian toska.
I write boleros on a cluttered page
.watch ink smudge and fade.
The Muse that moves me still eludes me
And I'll chase her dragon ever more.
Jan 8, 2025
Jan 8, 2025 at 7:23 AM UTC
I dip the quill of intention into a font of temptation.
I write pretty words on a blank page
To watch them all get sullied.
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 2:01 AM UTC
You'll never get to experience the depth of the still water until you're submerged.
The iceberg of the mind...
There are no mistakes, only lessons manifesting in various degrees of challenge.
Adversity is the crucible through which character is shaped.
Let my equanimity be mistaken for indifference,
as my tolerance is for acceptance.
Because the mountain piercing the heavens is actually a dormant volcano.
Jul 8, 2020
Jul 8, 2020 at 11:26 AM UTC
I'll be content in this contemporary contempt because it's only temporary.
But I'll still paint you in my memories
a vibrant monochrome.
Jun 4, 2020
Jun 4, 2020 at 3:29 PM UTC
Sometimes I sit and wonder about the strangers who read my life.
Do you think I’m using rhetoric?
Do you think I’m spinning webs?
Do you think it’s all words spewed from a wandering mind of fantasy?
Am I?
There are three sides to every story:
That is yours, mine, and the truth.
If I recorded every moment
and shared them all
With you
Would you see my lense as skewed?
Undoubtably it is.
Can a man really be objective?
One can try,
But there is no try
Only do or do not.
I wish I wrote fiction.
Maybe I’ll give that a try
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 11:44 AM UTC
He stands there
Beer and cigarette in hand
She plays ball room music
On the upright piano
In his trailer home.
Her self drawn tattoos act as eye candy
As she waltzed in her pajamas.
Life is good sometimes
If you make it
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 6:42 PM UTC
Clean our ***** souls
Over a few liquor shots
We won’t remember
Let it all pour out
Drowning our stability
We won’t remember
Choke on memories
The only thing that we own
We won’t remember
But somehow we know
They will never go away
We still remember
Nov 26, 2019
Nov 26, 2019 at 2:42 PM UTC