Sometimes,
I believe I can draw.
Really the
skill,  it sits
in my genes
like a bear.
Only spring
comes so rarely...
when  I have
a pen
and the page
a disguised cave
where my creativity
yawns, looks around
then goes back to sleep.
for another Season.

Oh little thing
beeping on my hip...
where are you?
did you find me,
green slider, and
tentative ring?

even your numbers
shiny 9 and 5
with 1s, zeros
QWERTY...an
entire alphabet
to love.

How is it
that without your
invisible electronic
leash, whispered
messages and
brilliant, **** screen
I would stand on
the street
lost in my own
neighborhoood...
It is the solved mystery
of the 21st Century.

I can measure my life
in lists of things I
meant to do.

The bullets, the stars.
numbers, arrows.
Musts, maybes and
Laters.
All there in
the wobbly print
of my 9 year old
boy scrawl.

If I circled it
did it first,
Will this guarantee a
different fork?
Wil  walk down
my to-do, to
Prosperity
If I accomplished
it all?
or
would I start
a new way
perhaps tattooed on
my arm

would I start , then
cllecting boxes
of regrets?

Every lists is
a promise I pretend
to make for
myself.
my Beautiful
False Paper Trail
for a productive life
assuredly.
not the one
that I lead,
At all.

It's not
strong as
some...but the
taste of a
garden stays on
my tongue.
lips wet
like grass after
rain, the
scent of flowers
leaves my breath-
the *** is empty.
time to join
the life outside.

what.
And then I
said...
Oh do you?
Nod, that.
sip the
tea, eyes
wide you
agree with
everything
she says-
that is
the way
you rent
your ears
to a
friend.

I've touched the
lips that wax
and wane
the warm mouth
that sits in
the sky

show me the
one with a smile
like that who
walks on the earth
and I will
surely follow him
all the way to
the
sea.

the thump of my
heart is
always in my chest
you would think that
with a rhythm like that
I could never feel
alone.
Well Science,
You're wrong.