Coffee break,
Achy back.

Take a seat,
Feet up, relaxed.

14 minutes left to sip,
Hit the button, clock in.

Too lethargic to remember,
Whatever the point of this work day has been.  

Almost time to take the floor,
More duties wait for me.

Out the window clouds float by,
I look on through the eves.

Head so deep,
Can't even speak;
The water drains,
Around my feet.

Got here how,
It's hard to say;
Can't reach that
Surface anyway.

I hear them coming,
For my soul;
Dragging chains,
Made of gold.

And, out they scream:
"Está lista, hombre;"
You had your chance,
Now sing ALL psalm praise.

Head so wrapped,
My heart goes wild;
When I think,
About the tile:

Spans the room,
And arches my mind;
Twitch and forget,
The concept of time.

Is this still real life?
What's happened to me?
I've seen how it ends,
And I hardly can breathe!

And yes indeed;
My Brothers and Sisters,
Are starting to scatter,
And spread;
They've nothing to do,
But bounce on through,
The opportunities seem,
to have fled.

I wish them luck,
All I've to spare;
I've left their plane,
Of saddened care.

And, on another,
I've beached my troubles;
Undertow,
Pulls the puddles...

...far up stream,
They shuffle.

You step in one,
At first, don't mind;
Then you feel,
The grunt and grim.

Wish you'd taken,
Smaller spite;
Just want your,
Attention tonight.

Was I out of line,
Asking tonight:
For you to always,
Be happy despite:

The very,
Scary,
Blood,
And,
Dairy.

A child is wonderful news,
To me dear;
Why would you ever,
Have such a fear.

I said that, "I love you,"
And, I'm sticking to it;
My opinion remains,
I'm ready, let's do this.

A life spent together,
Is something quite sweet,
You piggyback and cuddle:
Your fears and defeats...

...And leave your sweet,
Children:
A legacy to roam,
The spatial genuflection.

The noises go bump......
Bump.........................
Bump................
***­p........
In the....
Night.

Too far out for one session,
Too deep treading into heaven;
Too late now to turn back,
Too much line, too much slack.

Run, run,
My little demons;
While the coffee,
Brings the reason;

And the reason,
Brings the trick;
We float on,
Our coffee fix.

Chow y'all.

I fear we need a break my dear, these things are tell-tale signs:
Attention paid, Worries laid,
Lease put out of mind.

Goodbye then...until later,
And have a great day, ma'am.

"I am so tired," I said to Myself.
"Why don't you sleep, then?" Myself did reply.

"...Because I'm too sad," I told Myself.
"Then why so blue?" Myself did inquire.

"...Because I had a bad day," I confessed to Myself.
"Well, what spoiled your day?" Myself did persist.

"Oh, nothing really" I let Myself know.
"Then, why did you name your day bad" Myself queried.

"Well, the truth of the matter..." I started to Myself.
"The truth: yes, go on?" Myself prompted more.

"Well, the truth is just this..." I faltered again to Myself.
"What? What, I? 'Just' what? Myself grew less patient.

"The only person I had any meaningful conversation with today was you" I finally sighed to Myself.
"Oh" Myself suddenly changed.

"And what's wrong with that exactly?" Myself asked in a sting.
"Why nothing at all" I tried to recover.

But I could tell. The damage was already done. I was not happy, but poor Myself was now upset too...just for trying to be there for I, like a good friend when Others were gone.

And now I and Myself are not speaking.

Sunday evening, 3:00,
Took a stroll through the park;
Rainy clouds loom above,
Worries melt, rainy love.

Sun was out enough for me,
Felt the radiating heat;
Absorb my vitamins in rays,
Enjoy my slow humdrum Sundays.

In the park I see kids play,
Mothers talk, and voices say:
"...I know, I know, it's been too long..."
Feign concern of happened wrongs.

And by I walk, fading through,
Conversations poor and brew;
Children run, and parents mind,
Two perspectives blend and bind.

But does either really see,
How the other lives so free;
Attention paid seldom to,
The subtle rifts torn, than glued.

Grow apart, we always lose,
Individuate, diffuse;
Have our time and drink our wine,
Separate ourselves in line.

Though you may find space enough,
You'll never stop this line stuff;
On we must step, left foot, right,
Heavens gates won't promise quiet.

Stay close to your family,
Remember your family;
Escalator ever moves,
Almost to the top in tombs.

Here I lie in wake, alone to my thoughts--centered attention on nothingness for so long that it emerges with a startling gasp that stirs the calm waters, that breaks the crippling silence, that disarms my presumptions, that startles the birds from their peace in wing and gives movement to flight in the cold dark out beyond my shortsightedness of the here and now.

A ripple--that's all it was--that prompted my upward condition and seized my focus.

Subtle enough, yet I could not mistake it as London could not pass through a single sweet cool night without a shaky blast off in the distance that likewise stirred the children from their innocent dreams as I have strayed from my ever present seams and still now...

My meaningless nothing may faulter at the so vastly more important  everythingness around me; yet only my perception of these little ripple kisses that stir my soul and give rise to new movement and dance upon this elliptical routine that puzzles me in brick by bricked and stone by ****** can surely pave the path to tomorrow's promise of the again and the trials of what if in such again.

Perhaps no other than I could decipher the value of these thoughts; the merit they hold on my person; and the uselessness they possess on yours.

But that's fine with me...for expression left unexpressed, thoughts left unthought, refractive pulses left unreflected...these play things forgotten in a misspent youth dwindling in the pool of memory and the pull of forgotten woe, surely are worse than the best nightmare on the darkest, most desolate night of lonely sailing in those powerful little ripples that crash on my seawalls and smooth out my wayward projections.

I may push back. I may fight the waves, as futilely as an effort I know it to be. Or I may just accept this future as sure of a past it will ever already be...let that undertow carry me out to sea and swim with the birds and fly with the fish as the Sun whispered he intended for me.

But I may just come right back up again, as breathless and weak as I did before and surely shall again (remaining). For with every breath I surface to obtain, the effort for relief stirs new pains of concentration that only a breathless living may disarm to my liking.

I may not think clearly then and than so more, but my effort to keep my thoughts straight spills attempts out across the floor, and with each further step I further my chances of a clear tower of perceptive accomplishment to stand atop and gaze. Mind my incongruitous follies and shame my liking the name. Am I, I am, the confused and forebane.

Perhaps now, I've infected you? Confused, aren't we? And confused we shall remain. For nothing is so utterly disarming as the mixing of thoughts with no filter to gain. As this ground falls out from under you, just remember the rule for walking: one foot in front of the other for too long and you find yourself right back where you began.

Pick a new direction to gone...I'll meet you there some day, maybe.

Grab a hold, Take a seat,
Put ya feet up, please stay.

Freshly told, Of the heat,
Raise ya cheek up, and pray.

Captured you, In a trance,
And I'll one, two, and three.

Thoughts are new, So they prance,
As I float in seas grief.

Checked myself, Checked my rhymes,
Checked my spellings and flows.

Now I delve, Swim swirl times,
Heck, I can't smell, my nose!

Allergies up north, Make me suffer,
But my summer's been nice.

Freely float up forth, Rake a cluster,
Rut with bummers, their vice.

I cannot distinguish, The difference between,
Reality and this dream.

Longly I languish, the hindrance of dreams,
They quickly burst at their seems.  

And I have surely missed out, broken my rhyme, there it goes.

My structure is dead, the synapses connections snapped,
Focus lost over the falls of my eyelids;
Down my nose,
Into the soft fall reservoir;
Where it stirs and gets bubbled through the seeps of my lips;
Never to come out as thought for food,
But lost forever in the unfinished idea limbo.

It's a sad night of expression here tonight, I fear.

Night buds.