Mentally audible gasps and misty flannels
But she’s busy, dusting filthy wooden panels

Focus, is her every second sacred chant,
Her clad body sticking with sweat,
Yet there she is carrying out a bant,
Trying to sound cheery and buoyant

Music that is setting off sensations
Whereas, her ears are only brimming with static  
She glances at the leaves falling on the road
She couldn’t blame herself for being
aesthetic.

The morning was blue
And the world was endless,
The moon and skies watched from their fiery oblivion
And I sat on a porch drinking lemonade in the sun

The walls were blue
Claustrophobia and comfort
Tumbling into each other
Blurred and slurred
Forced serenity, forced to reminisce the sky
And fairy lights for stars in the dark


His eyes were blue
Filled with wonderlust and the heart beat of a hummingbirds wing
Ethereal sunlight hiding the smirk
Deception and beauty
Satisfied, spoiled and bored

The song was blue
A hopeful sadness too obscure for me to know
Marking the moment
Gathering the seconds among the staves

Those bluest of halcyon moments
Made up the darkest day
Whist the unsuspected turbulence
Lay offshore
As a storm at sea

it wasn't the way that she said goodbye,
the way she
gently departed,
leaving no stone unturned.

it wasn't the way that she
did her part,
staying behind a bit longer
to make sure no lovers
were left unjust.

it wasn't the way that she wished all those well,
fixating them always
within her heart's reach.

it was the way she cared;
for she spoke with her heart
and she moved
with an aura of awareness
in every step.

it was the way she appreciated
all that was given to her,
years after
it was thought to have been detached.

it wasn't the way that she said goodbye,
but the way that her actions
ached,
"hello".

I've been conversing with people that don't know me
Contemplating about people that have no desire to know me
And fixating on people that will never be mine

Yet I keep praying,
Disgracing and degrading
Humiliating and abusing
My own soul, for people that never take the time to give me any loving, any caring.
People that are never caught appreciating but keep using what they keep breaking.

Only in his car
Do I feel this way
My future lies before me
Urging me to stay.
Listening to his music
Thinking about my past
Begging for value
Should I go back?

anonymous winds
bend tall Timothy grasses,
wake rabbits napping
in the brush

they ripple the surface
of the stock tanks, tickle the haunches
of the beasts who wade there
to slurp the tepid waters

they birth red dust devils
for my eyes to follow, as they scud
through mesquite, and hopscotch over canyons
older than time

one day, soon, they will blow
over a shallow earth bed; I will not hear
their sibilant song, but my sleep will be deep,
unperturbed by their mystic music

I am my own favorite joke.