living with death in your spectrum
balances the mind and heart-
where rainbows never fail to delight
and rain makes the green grow.

Woke up feeling kinda good today,
Actually got out of bed on the first try.
Not every day has to be a struggle, right?
Thinking maybe things are finally looking up.

Took a walk, breathed in the fresh air,
Oh man, even my coffee tasted better.

Don’t know why, but I laughed for no reason,
I guess this is what normal feels like.
Everything’s fine. Totally fine.

7 YEARS

Darkness
Pain
Suffering
Growth
Newfound strength
Heartbreak

Fighting on and rising above

Love
Joy
Softness
Strength
Peace
tranquility

Living my life, because I can.
Because 7 years ago, I chose life.

Gardening

I planted a letter
The letter was y
It grew into a word
A word called why
The word grew to a sentence
Why? Why? Why?
The sentence over time grew into a mighty tree
And all the branches were questions why
And when the time was ripe
They bore the fruit of answers
And it was the tree of knowledge
And I took the fruit
And I ate.

a potion maker,  
seeking the formulae
of the combination
of the
known and the none,
the wizard’s ideation
of the secret spark of
creation, the starter fire
of human destiny & desire

who needs gold,
when,
the power of birth,
the mystery of girth
the fluids of oils,
plus 57 varieties
of human blood,
in a precise tabulation
the sap of human cell
constructs, heated
gentle on a low flame,
do not forget, or regret
if the salt & pepper
of discernment is
overlooked, the sighs,
the quiet of boredom,
the leveling moments
when creation is initiated

and then
my heart can be
known to some,
even careful read
between the lines ~
the lines on my eyes,
the cross hatch upon
a forehead, the crinkles
where time and laughter
intersected and injected
the whites spaces between
these words

enough enigma…

never!

I can't quite forget Vienna
3 days in beautiful snow
St. Stephansdom above
Me solo below

Embers by Sandor Marai
Inhuman desire
Off in distant Asia
We gaze into the Fire

                George W. Liar

The
tilt of my seesaw
is decidedly downward facing dog:

and there’s no rush to judgment,
for the powers that be,
be delighted by slow-walking,
making the waiting
max-tortuous,
but am of an age when everything,
even the long buried sins and unkept promises, poke and **** nonstop,
and the formulae once  relied upon
to ease incipient self-deception,
to temporize and salve the consternations

of unkempt aggravated remorse failures,

as aged misdemeanors be matured felonies,
I blurt and declare guilt to all, alas,
and yet,
always an
and yet
in the ultimate crushing of
tardiness, knotted by an indignity of silence,


no one is desirous
of taking my
confession

5:10pm
Thu Jan 28
2023