triangular tree-tops dot the horizon
the Fir has a specific shape
scented cones fall to delighted squirrels
eagerly scooping and burying nature’s bounty
as another winter has passed without catastrophe
blankly staring out stained glass, longing to feel the grass
between aging toes
mud puddle hop-scotch  memories transport me from a desk and a screen
to a childhood filled with wide open spaces and wooded glades
and the freedom to explore the world around me
soft cooing of the female squab forces the present into focus
and I sit watery-eyed trying to recapture a fading memory
it slips from view as I try to rekindle an interest in the job at hand
slow death by 9 to 5 employment

In the seat with the split window,
black cold metal blocked the road ahead,
the sliver of window from the seat infront of me
clouded and beaded with cold rain.
I'm only aware of what's passing me now --
what I've already passed.
None of it feels real, though.
The trees and roadside ditches seem to jump
like an old film
like thousands of pictures flashing in sequence.
The rain streaks making the scene flow not quite right.
A few seats behind me painted nails trace an empty smile
on the condensation.
Thousamds of raindrops rolled behind
two blank eyes and one hollow smile.
Yet,
the image never beaded and melted away,
even as she started to cry.
I watched the wind pet small waves
onto window puddles,
and flinched as pothole vibrations cut it apart.
As we lerch forward --
perhaps for a red light --
the puddle would run to an unseen place,
a place I could not see yet.

Evil, Mightypower,
Overcoming, sweeping by
Tidal wave of dark.
Suppression, needless
Jealousy, unreason.
Shard of hell,
Born from earth,
And broken ceramic.
Escaping freedom,
Smashed prison.
Feeding on conceited lies,
And acts of
Eviljoy.

I keep falling in love
with my mother,
I dont want to hurt her
-Of all people to hurt.

Every time I see her
she's grown older
But her uniform always
amazes me
For its Dutch simplicity
And the Doll she is,
The doll-like way
she stands
Bowlegged in my dreams,
Waiting to serve me.

And I am only an Apache
Smoking Hashi
In old Cabashy
By the Lamp.

fifteen years young, sat on the bus
burnt oranges, humid plastic seats, jolting and rattling with every bump in the sweltering pavement
told a stranger I wanted to be extraordinary someday
he laughed, ordinary is better, he said, I sat confused
this is extraordinary, he told me, pointed to my smile, I didn't understand
all I ever wanted was to build cathedrals that stretched for miles and miles and light fires on everything bad in this world, give a piece of my heart to the sky, create fireworks that echoed back in the reflection of every curious eye,
I stood before the crowds for too long alone I couldn't see past my wistfulness
the walls started crumbling and the fires spread to the good parts and my heart couldn't handle the feeling of being so alive
not fifteen anymore, I sit on the bus, still
jolting and rattling down the road, I realize it now
those trees stretching to the clouds are cathedrals and lighting fires isn't as effective as a single kind heart, my heart sustained from above, curious eyes have a need to be fixed on something much greater
ordinary is extraordinary, your smile, especially
you just have to look harder, I hope you'll see it too