The sunset looks beautiful at twilight,
piercing through the underbelly of clouds,
the sky painting vehement, orange light
against the darkened faces of the crowd.
We listen to the sound of a sitar play
and feel the rapture of the beating drum.
Everything the spirit could want to say
is spoken by the motions fingers strum,
reverberating through the evening air,
and those who move to its smooth harmony.
I hold you close, sway with your gentle care.
True beauty is this rhythm, dancing free,
far from the dissonance a dark world cries,
an orange glow reflected in your eyes.

Don't you just wanna.
Scream.
In everyone's.
Face.

I don't care.
Just.
Go away.

The  leaves  now  saying
a  sad  farewell.

To  the  trees  they
have  adorned  so  well.

Yes,  autumn  glory  is  here.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2017.

when you pass my way, know that my Wi-Fi network
requires no password to gain entry,
thus it comes with a security recommendation:

there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable:

how came Excalibur into the rock,
will our children have better lives than us,
can we define accurately finite,
why can't we add new letters to our alphabet,
will my poems live longer than I

so when you pass my way
walk right in, sit right down,
greet madness,
thy new boon companion,

who will not ask you for the password...
8/27/17 11:43pm

next time you say you can handle all of my crazy,
baby, make sure you have a vacuum

for all of the lazy, broken pieces of those same words said before,
that have been smashed and smeared into my **** carpet,
so you don’t cut your feet walking backwards out the front door.

next time you say you can handle all of my crazy,
maybe make sure you have a vacuum

because my hair sheds like it’s perpetually ridding me of thick coated winters,
and leaving behind a shrine to our time together like forget-me-nots
so you will find pieces of me everywhere -
not just in the carpet, the bed sheets, the backseats,
but on the radio:
if not because my voice is still etched into your mind during the static silence
then because i knew the words to every song like i wrote them all,
and i wrote a lot of them about you, or people like you:
the previous liars and triers and vacuums.

next time you say you can handle all of my crazy,
remember space is a vacuum

and how you also said we are two stars intertwined
because we are not celestial beings but soft bodies destined to die,
oxygen deprived, with ruptured lungs in ten seconds time.

I want a relationship
But I'm not sure I'm ready
My mind's not steady
And I lie in bed
Thinking about the dead space
Thinking there will be someone
In place of the void
With a face I won't avoid.