Cana Oct 12
This old fashioned simpers in my hand
Sweet and sharp, Bitter and Blight
it calms my everything
to a point
where I cannot
Cana Sep 25
The Silhouetted buildings peak
through the clouds, obscured
across the river, a city shivers
on a cold New York morning.
Just a little pitter patter of thoughts
Cana Sep 16
I know you
I burn in the flame from the glint in your eye
I sense the power in an insecure smile
I feel the danger in sarcastic defense

I see you
Desperate search in a forest so dense
Fighting the current, feet bloodied and red
You flex and bow, delicate perch, fragile limb

I taste you
From knees to shoulders In feline repose
A punch in the face from the twist of a nose
My blood hints of freedom, drips off my lips.

I feel you
It’s an electric vibration, synaptic attention
An ambiance, subtle change in light
Conflagration grows while sparrows take flight.
I story I wrote for a badass ***** I met recently.
Cana Aug 2
Ripples riddle the mirror,
Below, faint shapes shift
Elegant forms float here and there,
Little legs thunder, leaving a gentle wake
in lieu of turmoil.

The air is thick, the sun falling,
Already lost behind billowing storm clouds
Etched chaotically on the horizon.
Invisible but for the ubiquitous light.

It is the dragonflies time,
A darting zip and an effortless flutter.
From surfacing **** to towering Reed,
Searching for something we can only pretend to know.

Determined housewives, faces set,
Arms pumping and hips swaying
Their Anatidean waddle so fitting
Their quacks, a wall of stereo.

A lone rusted sign warns of gators,
but of signs, there is that one alone.
No rogue bubbles or beady eyes,
no ticking of swallowed clocks,
no suspicious splashes.

My battery is now as low as the sun,
and my pen is as empty.
A not so subtle poke in the ribs
from a universe in protest of the
bad poetry being inked.

c'est la vie
or as we say in English
**** it
Tuesday evening park sit. Waiting, watching, and stuff.
I wrote his sober, so I cannot be held accountable.
Cana Jul 27
I sat beneath the tree of me
its sheltering boughs spread wide.
Catching the afternoon sunlight on
hoary green leaves.

I sat beneath the tree of me
it's twisted, gnarled trunk stood strong,
Scarred by initials crossed out.
It's gooey sap ebbing and flowing to
the erratic beat of my own heart

I sat beneath the tree of me
thirty two rings, some thick, more lean.
A centre core, a maypole of happiness and

I sat beneath the tree of me
cradled by roots dug deep.
wispy wind wiggling my hair
comfort in all of me

I sit beneath my ageing tree
on a blanket far too large.
"You're welcome" I'd say to passersby
to sit with me a while.
My meditation place, on a green hillock surrounded by more little green hillocks.
Cana Jul 9
Sitting, baking, smoking, faking
Smiles, glances, eyebrows, advances
Cigarettes, ****, flying, skied
Leaving, time, behind, I'm
Sweat, sweet, dalliance, discreet
Screamed, moaned, words, intoned

So how was your Sunday night!?
Cana Jun 26
You killed the child in me.
A brutal ****** it was,
no mercy for his gentle soul.
His wide eyed wonder gone.

He was doused in gasoline,
and swiftly set alight
turned from happy kid,
to raging inferno, lit the night

His ashes did not have time to cool
before a stirring in their midst.
A cynical angry man did rise,
Not a phoenix borne of myth.

For now it hurts, just to smile
there's no mirth in my eye.
My laughter lines are obsolete
Just extensions of my frown.
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