The school girl espies her teacher
from the Art room studio.
She wished that she was her Mother,
for she had blonde hair and green eyes
and excelled in kindness,
reminding her of blossom apples
The girl remembers this later in life
posting it as a monochrome Memory.
It seemed a quantum leap  
wishing for the impossible
to change Mothers.
The grown girl looked lovingly at her Mothers photograph
smiling from her care home,
for gentlefolk with dementia.
It was no quantum leap.
We are the Sum of our Parents
her Mothers mind danced amongst
Picket fences, keeping out the poultry
The sum of one's quest.

In the stillness of the dark
I sit,
And outside my window
The night holds many possibilities.
People move within the shadows
Barely visible to the naked eye
Living shadow lives alongside my own.

Do we dream together?
And will love survive death?

I see you
In different times
Living different lives
And myself as a shadow
Living my own shadow life.

I visualize you
who I will never know,
Constant Stranger
I call you, I imagine
you when I write
and to think, you
will never know me
like the few who
I am close to, those
who say: I don't
understand what you
are talking about,
but I know what you
mean...you know
there is no other poet
on earth like me
and I know there is
no other poem in the uni-
verse just like you
and every two folks
have there own way
of loving, the poet
and the poem know
what they like, like
the kind that takes us
into different and strange
countries until we realize
at midnight, we are alone,
you and I, Constant Stranger,
anonymous mates whose love
can never be consummated.

I dislike I despise
The stuffy minds
And the philistines
Wearing virtue signs
Like dressed figurines
In pop social themes
Or faux thoughts and prayers
Displayed on twitter feeds
For their attention needs
All superficial cares
And sophomoric ideologies
Demanding apologies
Like commodities
And all that that implies
I dislike I despise
Those who dramatize
Moralize and jeopardize
Like a line of merchandize
The free human mind
And all that that implies

I am alone
in observation,
a splendid
ascension
of sensations;

Textures,
tense fingers
find
tactile pleasures
smooth and cool
to rough and hot
from heated concrete
beneath my feet
to moist stems
and slippery grass
that barely allows
any traction at all.

A titan’s perception
my poetic obsession
with twirling words
in a myriad of ways;

Of tasting salty meats,
or soft sugary sweet treats,
of the quick dissolving
cotton candy
that clumps
then disintegrates
on the tip of my tongue,

or the blossoming pain
of a cracked tooth
and exposed nerve.

The blacktop
cracks,
and I observe
earth.
Till, my eyes
ascend to heaven’s height
and I perceive the slight
blinking lights
championed by
a bright beautiful moon.