I walk the night
over city streets trying to find some semblance of why I’m here,
if there is a reason for my living, for me to be walking among
the lights absorbing the sounds as car and bus exhaust
penetrate the walls of my lungs


I walk the night
not just looking but gawking at the sheer size and beauty of the
buildings and think that amongst mans many accomplishments
what meaning could my tiny existence have.


I walk the night
in dream like state, neon hazes float about creating atmosphere
from flashing attention grabbing signs, ******, 2 for 1 at
Jasmines pub, live jazz and quarter beers between 2:00 and
3:00 what the hell is happening to me.


I walk the night
from street to street my feet dragging across cigarette buts
strewn along the sidewalk, most likely from others seeking
answers to questions from some dark place in their mind.


I walk the night
and it seems no one understands why or what they are looking
for, I guess just something to fill that empty lonely space deep in
their gut in hopes it will solve some mystery.


I walk the night
of all places why the city? The urban core, the life blood of every
town large or small, I’m just looking for an answer, to what I’m
not sure and why I really don’t know, maybe you know.


Do you have the answer I’m looking for?


I hope!

I watch the Finches fly, float, flutter dive
across the field they chirp and sing
yellow in color they dot the tops
of the thistle among other natural things
making scalloped patterns as they glide
gracefully moving through the sky
a tiny moment from the day that
helps  my troubles fade away.

The brain is an ever changing vessel filled with first
impressions, truths and lies of what life gives and also
takes away.

It is a vessel filled with hope, regret sadness and joy a place of
learning yearning forever's and goodbyes.

The mind delivers tragedies break ups make ups illusions
confusion love of what there is and what there’s not.

Hope and sadness sorrow pain as we go through life looking for
some type of gain walking on our heals one step ahead but one
step back lost like spitting into the wind.

We strive, connive and play our cards and what is shown is what
lies, all for a glimpse of what is ours.

The vessel drains then it fills overflows gives us thrills, it beats
our heart and pumps the blood it gives us life. Is that
understood?

Yet we abuse infuse but try not to lose our way so we can stick
around another day to play the game of life for which we pay.

The constant tick tock ticking
from the clock on the wall
what a waste of brain cells
or maybe I have none at all
for what it’s worth I can
see the pendulum swing
to and fro back and forth again
my sanity waivers listening
to that constant sound
tick tock ticking from that
**** clock on the wall
how will I ever get anything
done when all I can hear is
tick tock tick tick tock
tick tock tick tick tick
tock tick

I got up this morning put on a robe and slippers the robe
because I sleep in my underwear went to the kitchen made the
morning coffee had to have my coffee before the real world
smacked me in the face I walked out the door and the woman
across the street was out walking her dogs short yappy little
things the rest of the neighborhood was awake and crawling out
of their rectangular little holes in their odd shaped houses and I
realized it was a  very nice morning sun coming up over the
trees as people elsewhere those people out to see what they
could get for free before it was gone until another day I drive
into the city the coffee shop a buzz with people from from all
walks of life really not giving a **** what the other is saying
but talking just to make some noise as other people start to
crowd the street with their suits and ties and high heeled shoes
while more in jeans and shorts walked and hurried by to go
where I don’t know to what some think are their
insignificant little jobs and they are only there to get a pay
check end of story while Margery down the block prepares with
love all of the sweet bakery treats for those who care enough to
stop and buy because they know the love and care she puts into
each and every pie Margery knows her job is important not just
a Friday check what the heck someone parked in my spot and
the politicians are just waking up to begin what they think is a
day working for the ordinary people but we know better they
just work for themselves getting that proverbial check a million
times what Margery got a train whistle blows as it chugs its way
to that industrial spot to drop the burden it carries to keep our
economy humming along and the guy on the corner strums his
guitar and sings his song so I can drop a coin in his  case as I
walk along just something to think about as we go through our
days dressed to **** and live our lives as we all climb the hills.


© 2010 Charles Dennis


http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net

He cries sitting, waiting, I don’t know why, sad I guess.

Tears seem to follow the path of the one before, as stray drops
of sadness dare to go their own way down his cheeks,
dropping aimlessly to the floor.

Its Thursday, almost the end of the week, he should be glad the
end of the week is arriving like the week before.

He can’t jar loose a picture stuck in his head, it continues to
bounce off the inner surface of his skull, as
he sits crying on the edge of his bed.

Life has given him much, but taken away more. While a clock
ticks loudly from its mount on the wall. He thinks about the
drawer, and thinks again.

A stray thought hits him, that he is getting way to slim.

Where did that come from? He hadn’t a clue. As memories
become garbled and nothing seems true. Tears keep falling
as he opens the drawer, pulls out a gun and falls to the floor.


© 2010 Charles Dennis


http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net

Freeze dried memories that’s what I’ve got stored in the pantry
of my brain, not to be confused with what I did last month, week,
or yesterday. Some of these will make it to the pantry eventually
so I can recall them when that moment comes, if it does and if
the door to the pantry opens as it should.

Questions come up. Where were you when? Do you remember
Joe? Then I think to myself. Who the hell are you? The pantry
door must be locked, stuck, shut or glued, guess I just don’t
want to know.

My freeze dried memories are packed in cans and jars, each
with its own distinctive label by me, so I could have quick and
easy access to each and every row or sometimes not it seems.

There all in the pantry, every single one sitting in a row, waiting
label facing forward and wondering what’s to come. If the right
time arises I will be the only one that has the key to open the
pantry door to my memories old and young.


© 2010 Charles Dennis


http://www.charlesdennispoetry.netne.net