You peer intently
through a window.

What are you seeking?
What are you hoping?
What are your dreams?

Something wistful
attends your face;
pretty but pensive.

The Dharma Wheel spins.

So many Ways for us to go.
So many lives to try again.

Perhaps, in another life,
I will stroll down a street
past a house where a pretty
but pensive woman
peers wistfully
wistfully through
her window

and smiles.

~mce

Hi, **. Hi, **!
It's off to work I go.
Chewing on some coffee grounds
and choking down my smokes.
Hi, **. Hi, **!
It's time to start the show.
I'll attach a cordial mask
and leave my brain at home.
Hi, **. Hi, **!
Oh say it isn't so.
This place will be the death of me
and then they'll work my bones.

The digital world
makes us lazy.

Music on your phone,
your tablet, your laptop:
instantly and casually
accessible at a whim.

But placing a record
on a turntable
is making love.

It is tactile
and personal.

Your hands must
be steady and
proceed mindfully.

It takes time
and intention.

You must handle it
gently, with care
and pay attention
to the process.

When you do,
you reach its sweet
analog ******.

Effort worthy
of Euterpe, Muse
of music.

She will keep you
coming back for more.

I do.

    ~mce

Bristled blue feathers
Like nature's forgotten child
She chirps to no one

Maybe I should've known,
after the first bad bout.
Incessant paranoia,
glasses thrown, shrill shouts.
All the warning signs,
oh how could I doubt?
Just too ****** stubborn,
to choose another route.
As the squabbling worsened,
silence spoke so loud.
I knew it was over darling,
when my words ran out.