As I sat down to write something,
the doorbell rang.
It was a partial ring.
As if not fully pushed is what I mean.

My eyes averted left,
where I saw a boy run.
Green shirt,
very fast, dark like me.
Not lucky for him,
I had just cleaned my windows.

Inside I laughed. My face showed it.
Refusing to run after.
He's a kid.
I'm old.
And I wasn't properly dressed.
So inappropriate.
Oh yes!
That's why I didn't retrieve him just then.

I did catch up to him moments later.
He was so shaken.
To be brief, the boy left
in laughter.
I was not mad with him.
I was puzzled.
Sat thinking, I thought doorbell ditching was a thing of the past.
I was almost honored.
I will probably never see him again.

He’s too scared to ask me to dance
He thinks I will let him down.
I wish he would take a chance
Just ask me to dance
Here, now, standing in the rain
But we just stand there
Gaping like fools.
While water’s collecting in pools,
Then finally he grabs my hand
And spins me quickly around.
It’s so sweet, our first dance.
Dripping, soaking wet
Love does make you see things.
So now I know it wasn’t him but me.
He wanted to dance, but I was scared.

It doesn't feel much like ****,  
     when I text you the day after
the incident,
    to say I left my card at your house,
and go to collect it,
with a quick peck on the cheek,
   a squeeze of my ***
and its as if it never happened...

I've come to ask
how subjective is time?
Not the pieces we keep
but the changes we define.
A second is objective, measured,
Yet a moment is held in the mind.
We perceive reality through patterns
which can be expressed mathematically,
Relative to what we conceive, as chances
cohere to determine our chosen state of being;
The question has been: do we actually determine?
Or is it just endless reflection! Can choice shape teleology
and is it more than just mere binary, perhaps a continuum
of infinitely/eternally collapsing wave functions in computation
as the brain strains itself to make sense of this oncoming reality;
Do we lose all semblance of existence when that magnificent ***** is destroyed and at what point does this occur if it gradually degrades? I shall now state that truth, meaning and belief are three sides
of the same coin. You've got three choices
but only two chances,
Not that it matters;
T'was a toss up between genius and madness
but it landed on forlorn and simply rolled away
down an alley into abandon, longing and sadness.