Petals fell and floated in the periphery of his awareness
Punctuated only by the suns patterned sabbatical from the adulation of the city streets and it's blissful nomads.
Gradually it would return in season
An undercurrent of mechanical drone resurrected the daydreamer from his quiescent musings
From his sidewalk monastery he observed the passing urban crawl like one who keeps vigil over the dead
With the stoicism of a fisherman the lolling stream carried the bustle beyond even his cast net of sardonic speculation
His line of consciousness being temporarily tugged by a branch's ballet in the sunlight, hieroglyphics hidden in a line of brick, or the sparrows who sang deep but happy secrets
Theirs were acts of beauty hidden only by the world's unwillingness to see them
He was content like this
To be irretrievably lost within the labyrinth of his own thoughts
He felt he was a hermit
The keeper of a long forgotten secret
A mime who's silent art was solitude
It was almost comical wasn't it?
The figure a cold stone gargoyle atop his palisade
Scowling at the street below
At flower petal Charybdis and screeching Scylla
His odyssey internal and unknown to passers-by
Save for what could be conveyed by the cigarettes' soliloquy
The clown allowed himself to be swept away by philosophical inquisition and poetic sophistry
What persisted was the wish that it was quieter
That for an afternoon he could be spared the automobiles
He took another drag and tried to find solace
One of the metal demiurges parked portside of his wrought iron Quebec, and he noted the petals caught in the grooves of the wheel
Some held on amidst the ambulation
Others fell the fall of mortally wounded heroes and where caressed by the whispering air
He speculated that perhaps truth and love and beauty could be like these
They were supple beings of nature, or monoliths who inspired awe with their mystery
The modern world would keep them like relics of a former time
It would permit them to exist so long as they did not impede progress
They were relegated to the status of a ****** or an indentured servant
Even their necessary and incumbent pulchritude seemed sapped from them
Like a diadem above a trash heap
A gold ring in a pigs snout
They could for a brief moment decorate the vehicles, the sidewalks, dryad like in his own mop of hair
They may even be carried along by them
Until duty to the god of utility would shirk them off
They could not be allowed to stop the hymn to immolation which emanated from the streets
Lest they give respite to the crusade of endless noise
These foreign gods denied their creation the temptation to joy and inward reflection
The punishment for this was metropolitan purgatory
The two drachmae owed the ferryman were harmony and patience
So it goes
What goodness could come from all this hum drum
What great acts of love, beauty, or courage could brunch inspire in these terrestrial wanderers
It was hard to imagine Gilgamesh as a bartender, even harder to posit Jesus as a CEO
It was time to go
His own impending appointment resuscitated him from his afternoon of little death
He left the cafe and walked blissfully fettered unto new distractions
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 2:18 PM UTC
In a sepulcher of solitude
In a palace made of pain
Sunshine finds itself hidden under robes of rain
Where happiness feels like rebellion
Joy a fetter to bemoan
Descending caverns of despair to depths of anguish yet unknown
Idols of anxiety to which I give an offering of fear
Peace laughs at my weeping while love and satisfaction jeer
In a sarcophagus of sadness
A casket constructed of my guilt
My temple of refuge made of stone
Is ground into sardonic silt
Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 6:50 PM UTC
A plastic bag of pills and things
I placed upon the file box
Replacing papers I had handed to the cops
Their bright lights cut when they pulled up
To stop a suicide or what
I remember what you took
Four cents, some tissue, your smokes, and hat
Then you were whisked away like ash
Now what before was once a man
All but a bag has left
I sat and wrote and on heart choked
For all of satan's theft
Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 5:52 PM UTC
Under murky moon cloaked night
Heart undone by surgeons knife
Attempt to empathize with plight
Pray for day when all is right
Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 5:45 PM UTC
Tissue paper cigarettes
Rolled by black nails on the desk
Filled by butts from God-knows-where
Torn and reborn with great care
To behold such broken men
To then see myself in them
To love and laugh and learn and cry
To sit and wish the hours by
Sit sideline to insanity and the ramblings of the mad
No stranger to sitting vigil over broken hearts
Just never hearts broken this bad
Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 5:43 PM UTC
In positions I have never seen
Sleep the sleep of unseen breeds
The thieves the drunkards the possessed
Awakened only by mind mischief or the whisper of a cigarette
To return to what I cannot tell
Perhaps to dream of distant heavens
Or be horrified by little hells
Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 5:35 PM UTC
good morning emerald eyes
I know it's been a while
since I've been undone by your soft smile and bewitching ways
all those things I thought I loved
but love is a word I've only just begun to know the meaning of
so what was it then that I felt in the meadows
what is it now that I must reckon that your smile and your form produced in me
maybe only flesh fueled high
a veil I took for love to cover my deception
reflection of own desire
or the burn of blue green lustful fire
in that dream I sipped some medicine
but I was no more entranced
only sad and somewhat touched at the sight of outstretched hand
yet ached to make you understand
I woke up and repented
ruing ruined purity and wept
for wasted days and silly games
and the piece of me you've kept
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 12:32 AM UTC
a waking sun
a blissful wind
do winter's cold hand rescind
playful robin's song
trickling chatter the forest brings
the season's hymn all join to sing
a wild flower
the sound of streams
the gaze of lovers lost in dreams
sweet shower of spring
and humid heat
the kiss of earth beneath bare feet
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 12:20 AM UTC
Pennsylvania winter feels like Adirondack fall
But of all the sights and heart warmed nights
I miss you most of all
Pennsylvania mountains are just Adirondack hills
But amidst the trees and age laced leaves
My heart The Spirit stills
Pennsylvania's cloaked in green; and in the forests romp the deer
Amongst cast iron talks and wooded walks
I wish that you were here
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 12:19 PM UTC
You were One before one
One with One in whom all perfection makes its dwelling
Look down see weeping in desert plains
Gaze out behold generations of meaningless toil
Perceive within discern hearts like tabernacles filled with thieves
And so depart from place of peace and house of holy
Be found amongst those who wait for the sun
Yet hide in cavernous pits at his rising
Too bright too good too much life for this world
And so we plotted Your death
And though you knew the crown of pain and robe of shame
That we would bestow
Your hand of grace remains outstretched and yearned for us to grasp
And shepherd dies for wayward sheep
And lots for garments cast
Of He whos sandals we are unworthy to untie
Yet while we lay under fig trees and doubt
You knew and made ready Your body
As the avenue of righteousness
For wretched sinners to ascend to glory
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 12:15 PM UTC