Jumping on the crunchies
And crushing where I step,
Absorbed in each breath.

Where fall leaves stale,
I plant these stomps
going nowhere,
In particular.

Then I saw you
Stepping on
crunchies too,
consumed,
Simple and true.
With all of you.

Stay playful, stranger, curious.
There's enough crunch
For the both of us.

Do not set one up to fail,
   then let them go (if they do).

Giving love is
    letting one go.
Receiving love is
    one coming home.

Fantasy is mistaking
    half for whole
    or one for both.

I wonder
How to plan trees.
Sow and plant seeds.

How we could listen
Instead of talk.

How i could show
A bean, a beanstalk.
How we might one day grow
From raindrops to mighty oaks.

Is it always you and me?
Asks an acorn of a tree.

Is it just you and I
Going someplace
Side by side?

It takes roots to rise,
And courage to thrive.

So let the wind,
A breath, a sigh,
Sweep you up.


The world is much brighter
If you fall far from my side.

In my eyes i see evil,
A window depicting
A devil beside me.

I couldn't see though him,
As i hurried through the rain.
His reflection stained dry
Just inside the glass.

A man slowly writhing,
tossing, and turning,
Tattered soaked clothing,
On a dampened cardboard bed,
On the wrong side of the glass.

There he suffers,
Feet from salvation,
My train station.

A shiver passes through me
As i enter this cathedral of a station,
Population: one bulletproof guard,
Ensuring that i am not bothered
By the sickening feeble,
****** and outside.
But that does bother me.

Is there no church
In this place of momentum,
On the greener side of the glass,
Where we do not stop moving?

I met a girl in France,
Reading the same book!



Except it wasn't quite like that...

So my book turned into a cover.

It seemed I had picked up some thing mesmerizing,
While browsing a train station bookstore.

This tale of desire and loss enticed me,
But wasn't it just cheap fiction?

--------------------------------------------------

A girl met me in France,
And we got an empty beach at sunset!



Except it wasn't quite like that...

Trash littered the closing beach
closest to downtown Marseilles.

Loud speakers played
Something upbeat,
Missing its bass,
confusing it.

Even the sky was obscured.
But wasn't it still like that?

I forget what I forgot,
But at least remember that.
Hold on, I think I got it!
I'm looking for my hat.
I must've left it someplace,
but can't recall quite where.
I scratch my head, Eureka!
The hat was on my hair.

I've got to get this down,
or forget again, I fear.
So I check for a pencil,
write behind my ear.
There I find my glasses,
out of sight for years!
Now I see it clearly,
No wait, it disappeared.

I forget if I forgot.
Was I already here?

I sold the one thing I should not,
Some thing I had not.
I traded nothing, in exchange for
writing my own life's script.
I was instantly granted
each and every wish;
I corrosively imagined
I had seen through the mist.

When I found out that
who I advocated was
what's in the details,
I stole the one thing I should,
What I had sold.
Since that meant
I'd steal nothing,
I got back my soul.

I finally found a way
To tear my gaze away.
I read all day
In preparation.

Then my eyes blurred all kinds,
I was so used to type.

So I smiled,
Without regard to if
It was returned.

I saw my
Conditional
Friendliness
Obscured.

There I stood,
early in The fall,
Cornered on this:

The white Man walking
signals cross,
Whilst the red hand
Stops my steps.

This crosswalk
Calls up my thoughts,
In essence, a certain
Reminiscence,
A concerning
Recurring instance.

Was this not
How an empire rose?
Flourishing until,
Red, white, and bruised,
It must inevitably
collapse and corrode?

This is an ordinary corner,
But it talks
from the other side of the sidewalk,
I come across thoughts.