Ice and salt crunch 'neath my boots as I walk along an unmaintained sidewalk. In the distance, blue lights flash and snow removal vehicles make an otherwise quiet night, loud. I'm doing a little removal of my own. Surplus thoughts, excess; though, they go without sound into oblivions ever-expanding jaws, voiding me of resentment and regret. Leaving acres of empty field to fill

I circle the block, double back. I take in the cool night air and filter it through tired lungs, one deep calculated breath at a time. Tightening my grip, fingernails to palm. I let go, release. Upon inspection, there is no blood. There is no guilt in the belly of my mind. The darkness is inviting. The snow not nearly as blinding without the Suns reflection. The Moon, though modest in nature, and in comparison to that of it's sister, paints itself on the water top. Globes of light illuminate the path along the canal. The blue lights still flashing remotely in the distance. I can see clearer now.

gluttony tinged fork strings
  teacup filled full of powdery substance
                                                       ­     lack thereof
                                      spoon breath
                                  subtext
                ­          underneath the mattress
                                                  death breath
flowers in my death bed
falling through the floor      flowering tendencies
                   blend               and                   see
colour me
epiphany

what you leave when you’ve left (mending the tormenting silence^)
 ———————————————————-—————————-


your words rock me, like an old time preacher,
mending, begetting, tormenting,
fire and brimstone you sinner,
if I don’t quit this life of loving words, saloon music,
guitar picking in low down dives,
liquoring and sinning,
choosing to choose poorly,
never and always thinking about the songs
you’ve left behind unplayed, pained

got the sun and the rain and all afternoon,
to contemplating leavings,
the crumbs you let drop,
the missteps took and missed,
drank too much, hurt too hard,
the silence of my history, it’s renting,
unrelenting, tormenting, lamenting and such,
those loves, labors that don’t amounted much,
a slow rush to fall, to count it all

you say, always time to mend what life
has rent, if you spend the time thinking,
‘bout what you gained, what you lost,
the net of both added and subtracted,
what you got, what you gave,
the sum of your begat,
a life’s story, to tell,
of life’s misgiving, unforced errors, and
crimes committed only you know

not sure what the total bill due gonna be,
combining the costs of the here,
the now, what was and wasn’t,
what was said, not believing but yet singing,
so when the check comes,
the summation of your life’s calculations,
get to add on a tip, a good-as-gold saying
it’s time that can mend, but knowing the true costs of time,
maybe, maybe not...

<§>
                         let  them reap what you have sown,
                    for the great designer will surely inquire
       what everybody knows is the forecast standard to be met,
     it is not what, how much you got, but what you begat, when,
                                              you’ve left

Her side of the bed's
warm as a hug
she just left for work
closing the door like a book
I'll later pick up
and lose myself in
in the pages of her return.
For our lives are written
one little word at a time,
line by line,
chapter after chapter.