Sometimes I am so logical when I wish for nothing more than to be illogical.

Sometimes I am so illogical when I wish for nothing more than to be logical.

And so on

And so forth.

(Y)our
v - O - ice
so melodio[U]s

.A. s it
whispe _ R _ s
sw (E) etly
in my ear;

[B]ewildering
c...E...ssation
of logicAl
tho U ghts,

\T\oo overwhelmed
to
fa'I n
neutrality;

inhaling F-ascination,
i am
high off yo -- U r
fumes;

/L et me
exhale.

Cloud of nothingness
Smoke of emptiness
Haze of hollowness
Fog of desertedness
Smog of blankness
Vapor of vacuousness;

Chronic Apathy.

Flick of fire,
take a hit
of desire;
inhaling mystery,
exhaling fears,
coughing on
personal history,
choking on
invisible
tears;
setting a blaze
sentiments,
puffing out
resentment;
breathe in
the questions,
taking a drag of
my confessions;

High
on
Introspection.

Poetry
is the
buzz of bumblebees
as they extract
the mellifluous nectar
of the tulips
blooming in my mother's
backyard.

Poetry
is the
taste of a brain freeze
pumping hard against my skull
as strawberry ice cream
melts into my
tongue.

Poetry
is the
way it sounds
when I hear the soft strums
of an impromptu banjo
tune.

Poetry
is the
odor of
freshly lit candles,
as the light swells full
with smells
of relaxation
on a sultry
afternoon
in bed.

Poetry
is the
pang of loneliness
a lover feels
as they are engulfed
by
absence.

Poetry
is the
sting of pain
as I bite my lip
hard
to keep from
screaming.

Poetry
is the
tinge of sensations
of
throbbing,
quivering,
and
detonating
with a forceful
heave of
breath.

Poetry
is the
scent and hum
as the coffee ***
vibrates,
emitting
a sweet aroma
to lift the
early morning
fog.

Poetry
is the
grin that washes
from left to right
across a face
jubilant
with
appreciation
and
admiration.

Poetry
is the
senses jolted,
the
emotions experienced,
the
moments lived.

Poetry
is the
laughter,
the
tears,
the
yelps,
the
moans.

Poetry
is the
harmonizing,
the
intertwining,
the
dreaming.

Poetry
is the
anguish,
the heartbreak,
the failures.

Poetry
is the
catharsis,
the felicity,
the obstacles overcome.

My world,
your world,
our world;
it is the poetry,
flowing rapidly,
lusciously
from my ballpoint pen.

Playing by all the rules,
or so it seems,
the out-law fears
nothing and no one
as she
places her backwards cap
atop her
full head of fine hair,
sunshades
hiding her wide
toffee-colored
eyes.

Chewing ******* a piece of
wintergreen gum
like a first baseman
and some chaw,
she grips the steering wheel
as a heavy clap of
bass
emits a thundering chorus
out her rolled-down windows
into the half-empty street.

Brow furrowed,
the out-law ponders her next move,
bobbing and weaving through
one-way roads;
the destination she knows,
but the route is more
a riddle
yet to be solved.

The light air
and brilliant rays of sun
that sneak behind
puffy white clouds,
the out-law senses
some promise
from the
universe.

Lungs still filled
with
smoky wisdom,
she reflects intricately
on the life
lived by she
in the past few months,
gaining insight
into her own
optimistically
curious
soul.

She slurps
her Diet Coke
thirstily
as her cottony mouth
forms words and phrases
she one day
wishes to utter.

Time and space,
they are dear friends of the
out-law,
so drive she does
down that
long
windy
road,
twisting and turning
on the beacon of self-discovery
and hope.
And
love.

The out-law
watches the sky,
fascinated
by the rich colors
the sun paints
as it falls into a state
of serenity,
and
the out-law feels so serene.

Leaving comfortability
and safety behind,
the out-law relishes
in the excitement of the unknown,
getting high off
the fumes
of the uncertainty
that looms.

On she drives.

Green
is the color of the trees,
the luscious spring grass
that sparkles in the
creamy April sunshine
as I gaze outward
from atop the
monkey bars.

Sweet nectar of
honeysuckle and lavender,
a chorus
reverberating in my eardrums
of children giggling,
swings creaking,
runners thumping by.

I think of you,
your delicious warmth
that abruptly turned cold,
the chill and goosebumps
trickling up my arms.

I blink hard in the light,
brain processing thoughts
jumbled with
sadness
and
strength,
muddled with a dollop of regret,
sprinkled with
perpetuated curiosity.

The almost-turqouise sky,
toward it I stare,
longingly
in attempts to solve
the mysteries circling
my ever-chattering
mind.

Such simplicity
I see in this spring day,
at the playground
where I search
for my own
tranquility and ease.

Will I find
the answers
in the white buds blooming
on the bushes?
Or in the innocent smile
of a girl, no more than one year,
legs kicking jubilantly
as she swings high,
back and forth?
Perhaps then
hidden behind
the trunk of that tree
where a young couple
shares a secret,
sealed with a tender kiss?

Green are the trees and grass,
flowers dressed in beautiful
shades
of pink, purple, and blue,
sun bright yellow,
orange too;

my insides bleeding red,
your name
etched still,
carved into my
wooden heart;
I
bleed
out
all
last
thoughts
of you.

Closing my eyes
to all shades
of rouge,
I reopen
and take in spring,
take in the scent of the air,
take in the green.
You are gone.

A lone wolf;
Solitary soldier.
Too comfortable you have become
stumbling down a path
for one.

Blinded by
eyes closed
to the world that truly lays
beyond
your chosen screen
of wool
woven, cross-stitched with
Denial.

Hands you refuse to hold
as you boldly
trek
down the dusty trail;
howling out silently
so no one may hear.

Sporting a
mask
made
of self-loathing
and fear,
vulnerability the
enemy you choose to slay,
for surrendering to
a state of
naked, raw
passion
seems more frightening
than the darkest dungeon,
stormiest night.

Gulping down
another shot
of loneliness on the rocks,
not even a splash
of soda,
for you like the way it burns.
Inhale solidarity,
snorting your
line
after
line
of
self-destruction,
acidic dispelling of
feelings
chosen not to be felt.

Sometimes, though,
in the quietest of the night,
sitting on the lip of a deep
substance-induced-slumber,
you may whisper
in a tone you would hate
to be called sweet,
and the mask comes off;

till 2 PM,
waking and at it again,
alone, a lone wolf
howls
at emotional
sobriety
and takes another
drink.

Plush beads of summer rain gently kiss the windows,
pitter pattering steadily in contrast
to the low hums and stutters
of the red coffee ***
that saves many souls
lost in a daze of former slumber;
a lengthy stretch,
she leans back against the cream,
or maybe more ivory,
sofa couch,
wiggling it up and down her frame
and in its last push
released with a crack through the tips of her toes.

scrumptious smells of eggs and breakfast meats,
brunch is always her
favorite hour,
balancing the crisp texture of toast
against the delightful spritz
of OJ,
sometimes blended with a splash of something
sparkling.

the chords and rhythms that thrummed and purred,
the puttering, the humming, the stuttering,
a baritone chuckle
escaping his smirking mouth,
the moment so inescapably
charming,
how satisfying their ritual felt.

Lukewarm food
on a piping hot plastic plate.

Dinner for one;
again I indulge.

autumn
is when all starts to change
the wind
becomes brisk
warm summer air
slowly suffocated by
arms of an overpowering
cold draft, bitter, mighty
sun light
bright and splendid
shortens, shrinks, shies away
all the kids want
to stay in bed
for their sunlight,
guide, friend
it hides from them
more and more
as seasons change
and
there
fall
the
l
e
  a
   v
    e
     s
one    by    one
there they go as fall comes
they fall
red orange yellow
splendid eye candy
we see an
array of colors
all seems so
simple and
simply beautiful
or is it
something much more?
the real
fall, the tumble
of leaves
down the trees,
do you know what it means?
autumn is
           change
change to winter
the leaves are
dying,
slowly, rhythmically
they die
           one    by    one
they die.
Beauty? How?
In comes darkness,
in comes cold,
in comes
autumn,
summer's dying soul
that
is
winter.
I
am
winter.
You
were
my
summer.

The forest green of the trees
contrasts so greatly
against the soft pastels in the sky;
Did someone paint this neighborhood?

The odors of garlic & parsley
wafting from across the
charcoal street.
Hums of today's news,
all the latest gossip,
ooh'ing and ah'ing;
endless snippets of candlelight chatter.

Occasional dollops of light
peering up from sedans passing by.
Sounds of zooms
blocked out by the steady pulsating
of white earbuds.

Dogs yipping, sometimes a real bark.
Neighbors come and go,
reciprocating cordial hello's.

Street lights slowly coming alive,
for at 8:37, the sun has begun
its transition to slumber.

They always say,
TGIF, thank god it's Friday.
As day slips to nigh',
the crackles and pops of vinyl come alive
behind a slightly rusted window pane.

Tonight's secrets not yet revealed,
a couple strolls by
holding hands,
sipping coffees, decaffeinated.

A man drunk with regret
and a 40 in his belly,
he breathes a clumsy, "Hey."
Malted liquor questions,
their smell & sound, unmistakable gurgling.

Street lights now fully illuminated,
glances exchanged from
passer-byers.

He opens the car door for her,
and into the dusk they drive.
Vehicles come by in even
greater numbers,
and still searches the young man
for $9, a toothbrush, and a shower,
even cold.

Just another night of
just another day,
in just another city,
in just another neighborhood
on just another street.

Silence, loud, ominous silence,
filtering the senses,
the stories,
the magic;
Isn't ordinary   extraordinary?

I enjoy the way the pink spring breeze
grazes my rouged cheeks.
Though a little chilly,
a thrift store sweatshirt squeezes
back against my body,
shielding overwhelming brisk.

Jermaine's voice trickles between my eardrums,
but I pause a moment,
words of howdy, hello,
"Oh," I breathe, "yes, I couldn't
remain inside another minute!"
The hey's and hello's,
those are the chords of C, of G,
and, strange though,
how sometimes I prefer a flat or sharp.

Some chords though harsh at first taste,
they stew on the tongue,
relinquish sweet, succulent juice at last;
sweet reward,
satisfying relief.

I feel the grin stretch, slink
across my canvas,
the reverberations of a cackle,
boisterously beating against
my far-from-hollowed chest,
for full it feels,
full it is,
filled with filling full
of warmth, light, fulfilling fulfillment.

There is merely of tiny moments
a collection,
most prized,
as if I had begun many moons ago,
knowing did I do before I knew,
gathering each grain to
make a beach,
each blade of green,
making a lawn of bluegrass,
with a sprinkle of a flower or two;
deep within self,
collecting,
gathering
to now feel stillness,
& admire that treasure.

I gaze intently ahead,
streaks of magenta, a citrusy jaune,
(yellow of course),
juicy orange,
dripping into a soft
periwinkle,
reminding me of play dates,
chocolate chip cookies,
only the special, secret recipe
on special occasions,
today, could you be one,
every day, an occasion
to taste the secret recipe,
soft chocolatey, dangerously delicious,
melting into my tongue?
This sunset,
tranquil spring night,
oh how it tastes,
smells of the endless possibilities,
special occasions.

So wise, rich with knowledge,
how the recent past has left
me
saged with experience,
yet energy & zest,
of youthfulness,
I sigh outwards,
hard;
breathe in the wonder.

Family, friends, lovers,
neighbors, coworkers, classmates,
father, mother,
sister, brother;
the world uncoils, unfolds
like watching from the outside,
yet exploding within,
I burst outward.

My mind, oh does it race,
faster I am sure than
any body could carry.
It bends, twists,
molds, sinks, festers,
bubbles,
boom, pop, trickle,
it goes.

Creating art,
that is all we do.

I hear that sweet voice,
a melody of its own,
whispering secrets of past pain
and future plans;
I hold them all dearly, as
dearly can exist.

Strum my emotions,
pluck my thoughts,
slide down my dreams,
pick my desires,
bellow my fears,
harmonize my anguish,
release the echoing,
play the notes found
in the deepest chorus,
the sounds I can make
from the beating of my own heart,
the rhythm of heavy breathing,
giving birth to a story.

Still I am writing it,
but of course,
black pen smudges against
my tiny fingertips;
Mother always did tease,
for how I hold my utensil for
words, well, "That's just like me,"
she would giggle right now,
if she were to see,
that giggle just like the one
someone loves
coming from me.

A pen to a blank page,
again I go,
in due time the world will know,
and back to me will It boomerang.

Where there was once a sense of
apprehension,
the way this slow, meticulous wind smells,
tastes,
feels as it strokes my face,
all I may now ponder
is a simple, tasty desire;

The journey, how delightful it is.

There are tunes to play, sing;
oh how there are jigs to dance.

Mouths that can open wide & scream loud, but not shrill,
toward the heavens.

Smells to create with fresh baked goods,
peaches to burst open with teeth
hungry for its, their juices.

Flowers yet to bloom,
more in the tender April 'noons ahead.

Steps to stomp on a run in new kicks.
A soft pair of lips to kiss.

Jokes to be told.
Laughs to be shared.

Lines to cross.
Fast pulses to feel.

Claps of thunder to steal the blue sky.
Silent tears to slip down cheeks
worn from years.

Philosophies to analyze.
Friends to meet, greet, make, take; bonds to create.

Games to play.
Long, strung out giggles
from little ones,
innocence so pure & poetic.

Dreams to make realities.
Loves to have, but loves too to lose.

CIties to visit.
Language to speak, share,
stutter, misunderstand,
exchange,
accomplishing dialogues,
communicating in hushed
whispers,
sweet nothings nuzzled,
brushed
against my ear.

I've got some living to do;
living with me, but also
living with you.

Is anything simple,
or is everything?

"Run away with me;
save me."

"You don't have to be alone."

"I want us to stand in the sun together."

Do we just keep rollin?
Where are we goin?

The bright sun shines above;
that baby blue sky I love.

The tires roll,
off the ground we take,
fate
awaits;
Let's get lost in this place.

Subtlety, how you govern
my actions
for I fear dissatisfaction,
not certain the reaction

Do I surrender to the unknown,
to that yet I do not know?
The more I grow,
further I go,
fearful I may be,
is that, though, serenity?

Dive into a phobia,
pool splashes hopelessly,
waves, water, blue,
it has opened me.

Well, not open,
but perhaps ajar?
Is the end, is it far?
Or is it near?

My dear, oh how it could be
with me, oh how you could see,
Hands laced loosely
like a kid with kicks too cool,
loose they hang,
easy stride slow, low
against the breeze
until the darkness does squeeze
the space between us,
and embrace me you do.

Heart, head; aboard a jet.
This is all a dream,
or is it?

Is anything simple,
or is everything?

warm, strong hands;
the delicacy of his fingers
softly racing
d
o
w
n
the small of my back
losing my breath
heart beating;
lump in my chest.

a world unknown,
I have yet to feel for
someone
new,
my world spinning endlessly
as we lay
on the azure blue of his sofa couch;

feels so soft,
soft as the heaven and the clouds
as they wrap
             their arms
                          around the sun
and it slips into Darkness....

Darkness.
days of it.
nights of it.
yet the most remote light found
in the darkest of places

a cold lonely night,
riots; tragic news; insecurity...
he turns them into
radiance,
to the white of a sandy beach;
his soft skin, his beautiful gaze...
I get lost in that blue-green ocean
that bores into me
with all of their innocence.

I let him take me away
away from it all;
in that moment...
and as my skin brushes melodiously
against his enchantment
I know somehow that everything
has
changed,
and it is so far
from
                                                              undisclosed.

if only I could keep the sunshiny Darkness;
the togetherness of our loneliness;
the stillness of our fast-moving passions...
locked away secretly,
                                        a secret between (your lips and mine.)

stillness;
my petite fingers loosely grip the black leather
of the steering wheel,
melodies erupting sweetly from the dashboard,
their lyrics infiltrating my thoughts.
line by line, word by word,
they all take me to the same place.
my eyes search the sky on the long drive home.
the sky is a canvas
filled with an artistic blend
of magenta, red-orange, and gold,
as the sun slips quietly behind the clouds
& into slumber...
this same piece of art reveals itself
a long 6 hours away,
sneaking into darkness
above the quiet place where my music takes me;
to the place where my heart lives
for four solid months,
four months of sunrises & sunsets
where you stay
6 hours away.
yet, across those 300 miles
a single melody singing in my dashboard
can erase the vast, empty space;
in my stillness, I feel your presence.
time & distance are drowned out
in soothing sounds of rhythm & blues
& explosive colors in the sky.
all that I really see as I gaze upward
day in & day out
on my long drive home
is a pair of brown eyes
& long lashes,
holding me tight with their gaze...
"What distance?" they whisper,
"I'm always right here,
watching this same setting sun."

Too complex,
too intricate
for such a simple world.
His mind sees it all in a different manner.
Put on 3D-glasses,
take a step inside the rabbit hole,
you still wouldn't find your way,
not exactly.

it's like I've been moving in slow motion
caught somewhere between dreams & what's real
eyes open, eyes closed
as they flutter open
I wonder...
when dreams and reality are to come
together

the way I lose my breath
the thought,
the mere idea, memory, desire
your hands on the small of my back
your lips
I remember,
and, too, sadly, I forget,
and I hope
and I
dream.

I hear melodies, old and new, too
they remind me,
entice me,
help me dream...

But, is it a dream?
is it memories?
My memories and dreams,
they're one in the same.
It did happen,
it could happen,
will it happen?

I'm not waiting,
and I'm
                    waiting.
I don't care,
and I care so much.
I'm too busy for you,
and I'm always thinking of you.

Your words,
they have left,
they still leave,
they will leave,
a mark on my heart.

I think of your face,
your lips
     your hands,
your laugh,
your voice,
    but most of all...
I think of your words.

Words is what
we always exchange.
Almost like,
sometimes I think,
we have our own language.
Language.
Years spent studying it,
writing,
yet your words,
they are
              the most
                              immaculate.

You've said,
and you say,
so many things.
I get it all.
I hold onto each syllable,
written and oral,
they all touch me alike.

I am captivated
  by you--
  your thoughts,
    your mind.
It is your spirit,
unbridled,
that won me.
The thoughts you store,
a complex man
in a world too stipple to understand
him.
Often he has been a lone wolf.
Often he has struggled,
yet he was never defeated.
You have transformed,
as a caterpillar does into
a butterfly...
You now are transformed
into a man with a past,
with wisdom,
with baggage,
with an impendium of knowledge,
with a story...

It is this story, this very story,
these words,
they have won me,
taken their arms,
held me,
taken me in,
engulfed me.

You.
Your story.
Your words.
All of it.
I would listen,
hear,
read,
ponder,
comprehend,
analyze,
forever.

Transformation.
To be transformed.
Seed to flower.
Child to adult.
Caterpillar to butterfly.

A wave can turn to a hurricane,
a flame to a wildfire,
a stormcloud to a tornado.
It looms,
it darkens the sky,
it frightens.

But does not the shore dry,
the forest fizzle out?
The sun sneaks out behind a seemingly never-ending stream
of darkness and devastation.

So, too, do we transform.

A boy became a man,
but not before
he was absorbed
by darkness.
Only thereafter
could he seek out the sun.

Peace comes after war,
recovery after illness,
healing after injury...

This transformation,
it is greater,
more magnanimous
because, too,
that process,
that search,
journey,
his darkness...
it stretched on for what he presumed was his
                                                                                eternity.

He was scared.
He was alone.
And then,
he triumphed;
he needed no one.

And then,
out flew a newly
transformed
him.
Out to the world,
new world,
brighter world,
out he came...

a butterfly.

Lost;          stuck

Free me

   shackles wrapped

   clenched

suffocating

not even near

         but far

drive away

   rearview mirror,

you wash away

  I waved farewell

spinning

                  turning

                  ­               endless

fly and.

                        go.

                              ­ get.

you ask me why
      or how

answerless I remain.

putting the pieces

         together

and          apart

Riddles;

                  I solve,

Let myself know myself

But fearing

  questions’ answer

for knowledge

      Knowing knowledge

Knows no bounds.

Sometimes there are

      tears

but smiling

      floating

mysteries
      solved

slowly

simply

­  unraveled

and still shackled

but breaking

      free

And one day I will be

                                          in the sky,

wings spread

          to sunset:

I’ve found it.

Alone.
Sitting
           silence
thoughts
   sift
      drift
         swim
            sink
THINK.

Here she waits
     thoughts muddled
emotions jumbled
self
   honesty
      to self
   myself
herself
yourself
    all perspectives
tell me
Why?

What is real?
wants
needs
desires
truth & lies
but
   be
      REAL

FEEL

live
   cry
      laugh
sing & dance
scream
      lungs filled
Let go,
      freedom
and
fear
but real, feel,

it’s okay.

Today.

It was the second to last time
that I had you,
curled beside me,
chest rising & falling,
slowly & rhythmically
to the beat of
an *****
I wished more than anything to be mine;
but it was not so.

Taste of liquor still
heavy, weighing between
my slightly pouting lips,
I think a part of me knew,
even then,
that this may be the last time.

Convincing myself,
little did I know this effort
had persisted
nearly a year,
green I was
to hope for more.

Yet hope I did.

Your body felt so soft &
melodious
as it gently greeted my own,
lost in its
hidden intentions,
the music that echoed
against
the cement walls
sounded too loud
& drowned out
notes of rhyme & reason.

Today lay I that song to rest
yet not without again
questioning
the senses felt
come the first exposure
to new lyrics, melodies,
and sounds.

The bitter taste,
his sweet recipe
left upon my tongue,
I will never forget,
nor the smell of the
vanilla candles
and soft feelings
of perceived,
believed silkiness,
I now feel the cold, hard
linoleum
as it presses against my cheek.

Sometime they will
pass, leave me;
until then
the second to last time
is too loud
for this time.

It was a Saturday morning.

My eyes,
they fluttered,
lashes grazing against
the top of my lids,
pitter, patter, flutter,
am I awake yet?

Hours spent
drifting in, drifting out
somewhere I slipped,
swiftly,
floating in between
sweet, delicious dreams
and soft, serene reality.

The universe opened
wide
just beyond the unlatched windows.
The wind
whispered to me
as it slowly blew by
the quilted drapes.

"The universe is yours,"
it whispered.
Awake, rising,
how I was aware,
senses heightened
by the morning air,
or was it afternoon?

No matter.

Grogginess faded
as my eyes focused
on the whimsical, soft shapes
that shifted, turned,
dissolved, bloated and
withered,
the clouds spoke to
me,
creating a slow, two-step
harmony
in my soul.

Sunlight faint,
that early afternoon light
the kind that
makes everything beautiful,
and poetic,
even the 3, oh wait,
there's 4,
flies buzzing,
circling round and round
the overhead light
were they dancing?
playing a tune?
The sunlight made it so.

'Twas all a chord,
a line from a song,
a poem,
a simple moment
in a complicated world,
and all I felt, smelled, heard, saw, tasted;
I am alive.