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Sitting in a hidden corner
Quietly disappearing
Back tight against the wall
Melting into it
Almost oblivious to the world
Trying to become like a vapor
Translucent
Uncomfortable
Watchful
Like a cat
Eyes wide open
Ready to run
Anticipating
Sitting in a hidden corner
Disappearing from the world
~for no one in particular, just you~

this red thing, surely very surly,
deserves a poem all its owny,
what you see when you saw it,
& the cat's curiosity got thy better,
got check it out for it is
obviously excessive
wordy,
but what could it mean?

and the ear bud always intervenes,
(you-know-who-is-always-eavesdropping)
provides a 'reddy' answer:
                                                                                                                    nml

If I Ever Fall in Love
Song by Pentatonix ‧ 2015


The very first time
That I saw your brown eyes
Your lips said hello
And I said hi
I knew right then you were the one
But I was caught up
In physical attraction
But to my satisfaction
Baby you were more than just a phase
And if I ever (ever fall) in love again (again)
I will be sure that the lady is a friend
And if I ever (ever fall) in love so true (true)
I will be sure that the lady's just like you
I swear next time she'll be a friend
If I say that I can be your one and only
Promise that you'll never leave me lonely
I just wanna be the one you need
I just wanna be the one who serves you
Sometime I feel as if I don't deserve you
I cherish every moment that we share
And if I ever (ever fall) in love again (again)
I will be sure that the lady is a friend
And if I ever (ever fall) in love so true (true)
I will be sure that the lady's just like you
Very next time she'll be my friend
Someone who I can believe in
(My friend)
Very next time she'll be my friend
Someone who I can believe in
(My friend)
Very next time she'll be my friend
Someone who I can believe in
Very next time she'll be my friend
And if I ever (ever fall) in love again (again)
I will be sure that the lady is a friend
And if I ever (ever fall) in love so true (true)
I will be sure that the lady's just like you
~for Jill~

“from your messages”
elsewhere scribed, a
confession that your comments
be challenges like cool
well water drawn, a
fresh mix and minx,
a two flavored scoop
on a waffle (or sugar) cone,
mmm call mine, flavors of
inspiration and aspirations

it’s 2:46am, one would think
that a deadrose would know
better behavior, but up is up,
and down down down-come
tumbling words, as usual,
each screeching hoarsely

pick me, pick me!

uncover your note of appreciation,
side splitting laugh in shame and shock,
that spellcheck has altered intent,
one day, likely a  cause of a war,
or e v e n a new poem

peddle a rose
became
“pedal a rose,”
invitingly nonsensical,
my point exactly

but the awake-too-late idiot,
can’t stop me now ~ urgency
has mastered my     common
sensibility, thus        commanded
me to write and shine

somewhere nearby,(1)
babies be borning,
and flippers of coins,
old humans too,
be expiring on the
sell-by-date
some surrounded,
yet all surrendering

Angels sent to
both sides now,
to ferry them
back home,
their adventures
completed or a
preface begun

Oh
for the ferryman
to ferry them
across rivers whistling
hello my darlings,
to a new home,
with a clean
writing tablet
to inscribe their
owned
future or past,
making their case
for a future or a
memorized posterity

I am dancing on the edge
of that first category,
dancing tap before that ——,
unwilling to cross over
and the angel sent
with collection papers,
mine and JoeBideen,
can’t touch us yet,
while in the middle
of our latest composition
(ya didn’t know?)

where in the world
has this to do with
pedaling roses?

the angels offer enticements,
write like the great ones,
sit at the feet of Leonard & Sylvia,
get introduced to the author of
“Leaves of Grass,”

who will amend and correct
(using spellcheck)
your own new scriptures

for rules From Above,
are carefully careless,
and don’t care about
impossibility so
leap with me,
onto a bicycle of roses,
each pedal a petal,
each tire of woven stems,

our destination is
everywhere, our purpose
to bring scent to those
who still have need to
breathe, and those’d who have
ceased
being needy
forever

filling nostrils
with colors of roses,
and finding poems
on the floor, full writ,
purposely scribbled
and scripted for just
a jilly one,
(just like
this
one)

just lacking a title,
just lacking a name,
customed for a single
customer, now a custodian
of a new born baby
poem
ready to be fedex’d
to its new owner
and deposited in
the this bank here,
right here

so thank you for
revealing my
inadvertent typo,
and aiding in my
quest to bring it to
a new life,
but must petal on,
for new babies are
being born and need
wrapping in a
a bed sheets of white petals,
fresh happily donated from
living roses!

3:19am
(1) i live on an an avenue of many, many hospitals
the things physical we could not live without,
the objets d'art that decorate the tapestry of
the primary bones of our existence

each of us differing,
each of us, a different list,
utilitarian is beauty,
thus our individuation
distinguishing and distinguished

a trash can,
purposed for our wastrel wastage,
and yet, beloved by waves of utilization and
discard
only after much  usage, kept nearby as a token of
our appreciation, only to be dumped unceremoniously
when the
memories grow overly fulsome

Why you think I reference the common kitchen garbage?

No, no! why it is our brain,
that be cleansed nightly,
leaving only the wisps of life aprior,
that reruns in wisps, only sometimes,
for better or for worse
,
recycle-able
feb 22 2025
it is a new little ribbon,

for you. i will tie here,

yet not too tight.



it has been a long time now.



yes, said the bear.

a long, long time.
How selfish of me,
to crave a happy ever after,
when I have already tasted forever
in a fleeting moment with you.

It was enough
to carve your name into my bones,
to make the world without you
feel smaller, emptier, colourless.

And yet…
if once was all I was given,
if forever was just a heartbeat,
then I would choose it again.
And again.
And again.

Because even as a wound…
our love was still the sweetest eternity.
Follow me on Instagram @incurable_poet 🫶🏻🌻
One day, when time stopped running,
I saw the plain frame and silver threads
suspended like a gentle wind
above the breathing horizon of lost origins.
I sipped frequencies from the air,
as though I could gather them
into fragmented mosaics.

The Tower of Babel of misunderstanding
melted into a single vivid image
composed of scattered syllables.
I found myself on the margin of a notebook
coincidence, or a sense of density?

No one will change the flow of a rushing river.
Everything has been planned.
Who will take away dreams?
Symbols, premonitions?

All that I remember from
The future still lives in my skin.
The rest are only fears and mistakes,
The choices never taken,
The ones that carry me here.
I try to catch the present
returning to inevitability.
Its running away is the reason
I’m still breathing.
It's not that I'm getting
older

but that
I feel I missed out

on all the the great things
the iconic stuff

that I could wax poetically
about

like seeing Milton Berle
or Henny Youngman on stage

at  a Catskills Resort
a place like the Concord Hotel

mind you

not the older versions
of those legends

but the younger swinging
tuxedoed

swagger muffins

shouting jokes
into  those old-fashioned

silver microphones
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