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Let's take a roadtrip to the ocean
and drown in the memories we make
I'm stuck gnawing on this umbilical cord
Attached to Appalachia
Coiling around my neck

I came into this world, adrenaline coursing
Held eye contact with the Doctor
Stared my father in the face

A boy fell in love with me because I always won staring contests
He cried blue ridges,
Pressed a chess piece in my palm
I can feel that night(knight)

Things change -- the mountains don't.
I nod in perpetual agreement, eyes dry.

I'm sewn into this earth
Eroding and growing
Stagnant and moving
As my Sundays
Begin to unfold
Coffee, poetry
And away I go
Just like tomorrow
And the days before
Got to get myself
Into that zone

Moments between
The struggles of life
Balancing friends
Family and wifes
Work and fun go
Hand in hand
I am but
A Poetry Man
Traveler Tim
Some of us thrive
On poetry!
Semi-automatic eyelids flicker,
Backdrops glare through thick black lines.
Fast forward tracks on silver halide,
Detail removed, spoiled by light.
A scene defected as clarity hides.

Rib-cage rattle engine backfire;
A marble rotates on the edge of a knife.
Three-hundred bodies drift by aligned:
All voices unify into a singular baritone
Outfits blur like the traffic at night.

Cloud cover grows, the audience subsides
Calmness prevails, relaxing your mind
Shoulders sink to back to a perch
A low ISO repairs the flooding of light
Each silhouette regains its detail

As passers by regain their autonomy
A low ISO repairs the flooding of light
Each silhouette regaining its detail
Sweat stops pouring from over your brow
Conjoined voices become conversations

Clouds cover cracks as the day drifts by
A marble taps the brickwork below
As vertical beams shoot from the sky
Get back to your feet, pray to the night.
His graceful fingers softly brushed
over my thigh in a languid stroke,
sending a parade of shivers along.
Slanting him a sideways glance,
meeting blue sky experience
embedded in a roadmap of life weariness.
With a crooked smile and a raised
eyebrow he simply stated;
-Had we been born in the same era
I’d make **** sure these legs
would never walk out on me.

The imprint of his hand stayed
as a melancholic afterthought
long after I had wrapped up
the meeting and left for the airport.
Unfortunately the flight
did not include time travel,
which has been a top priority
on my wish-list lately...
In remembrance of an era lost. Firenze 2014
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