They weren’t all cut from the same cloth
vilified tenders of the iron *****
some were lovers
(or lucid dreamers)
stage romantics
hidden behind jackboots
and skull caps
and switchblade seams

Caste members of a forlorn pack
counting their patchwork and deeds
conjuring up demons
around the console
filling their dreams
with radio reds
and dusted quarries
and faded sepia prints

Brass knuckles
and marches of the few
lightening bolt cracks
from a chilling blood moon
death’s dark specter
cold and ominous looms
the cobalt sea swells
near the nestled, and lost
Clubhouse at Kiusta

There is a fabric that is woven between
the layers of now and then. Each is a
collection of verses written in the glimpses
& the  unnoticed collection that are both.

Coalescing between the triangle of focus,

"Mind = floating verses not solid.
"Palm = solidifying thought to motion.
"Paper = Forms of others visibly static.

Once the fabric is woven from the layers,
from birth to life to a coffin of white.
Paying respects reading the wording that
are visually passive, cognitive imagery  birthed

If
  happiness
    was
      a
        cake,


I
  guess
    it
 ­     wasn't
        large
          enough
            to
       ­       go
                around.


Either
  that
    or
      so­me
        had
          been
            too
              greed­y.

Outside a box is lonely.
               where 6 sides dwell
others huddle in a safe place.

But I'm alone like a star lingering
              within the dark places.
No other near, space is my virtue.

Where I linger though others collect,
              Shining in collective thoughts.
A radiance I never thought expelled anywhere.

I was alone, outside a box, crumpled sodden.
             recycled old thoughts,
But we need not a box to package ourselves in.

There is an awakening,
                   not to packed away,
We are a new generation of consenting reflections.

Only that the sand never sits still
and I will never get to count the grains.

There's no one here except for me and all I do is watch the ***** scuttle out to the sea and the tide march on in because there's nothing else to do,

there used to be,
I used to have company
but
now I'm alone.

I can't say for how long
I've been a castaway
and
I'm guessing it's been
a long time since
anyone asked me,

I used to have company
but
now I'm alone.

I started counting coconuts
but only the ones on the trees
and then I forgot which tree came next,
they all look the same to me,
so I'm back to the ***** and the sea
and the tide waits for no man
especially if that man is me

I used to have company
but
I can't remember when.

Written by
John Edward Smallshaw  61/Here and now

Looking at this world. If
You have burned even
One frozen pizza in your
Lifetime, every tear you ever
Spilled on your own
Behalf is
Sandbox.

The best place to hide a
Needle is still within a
Haystack. So we forget, and
Let our strings be pulled.
Love? A scratch scratched.
Now count grains.
Crusts uneaten.