Pretty things fare well
Everyone loves pretty things
Pretty flowers, pretty houses, pretty faces
We don't visit ugly places
The under belly, the blood, the snot
Perhaps ugly things are best forgot
Pretty, it fades if we see it each day
Fresh eyes wouldn't focus on the magnitude of decay
But the slight beauty that grows around
Well, that would be found right away

The Beach was vast
Velvet sky kissed the diamonds
She ran till he gently broke her fall
He was the blanket
She was the pillow
The ocean their lullaby
Until night turned into morning

C@rainbiwchaser2022

I'm in a room without recovery area:
a room of intermission, a room
of collapse. Where are
the convenient little windows
to release a wicked bird of thought?
The quiet there is monk-like,
rogue, and slightly unpleasant, guilty
of moments spent with shadow.

I want to build a clock
that ticks once a year
—more dark than shark,

my confessional capacity
—time-stretched,
like the heavy intoxicated *******
of the witching hour. And I'll
make soup from the leftover prayers
of the day before, all in hopes
the rooms of me, then so clear,
will one day be faraway suns
in the temple of heaven.

I couldn’t sleep. I was lying in bed watching the patterns reflected moonlight made on my ceiling when I heard the faint beep of the kitchen microwave. I smelled popcorn.

I decided to fill up my water bottle and see who was up. I slipped on a thick, terrycloth robe I’d gotten from Lisa last Christmas. It must weigh 15 pounds and it’s so warm and heavy I seldom wear it.

I silently glided into the main room. Leong was standing at one of our two large picture windows staring out at the night. Her left arm cradling a bowl of ultimate-butter popcorn. Anna told me last night that Leong and her long-time boyfriend, who’s back in China, had broken up. They’d been together forever and had been expected to marry.

A bright half-moon was hanging high over campus, an electric ornament on a velvet background, its moonlight glint painted the world, like ice on mountaintops.

“I heard about your breakup,” I said, “what does it mean?” In Leong’s world, who you dated was of family interest. That person had to be approved, their bona fides proven - they had to fit into some long term plan.

“It means I can’t be tamed,” she said, with soft bravado. After a moment, she spoke again, more seriously. “It’s better this way - for now - someday..,” she trailed off.

I understood. All of our hopes are resting on someday, like so many wagers at a casino. I imagined some gambler, stepping up to a betting window, in an old black-and-white movie, saying, ”Gimmie 5 bucks on Someday to win.”

Something in her voice, a brittleness, precluded further questions. I looked at the clock, it read 3:47. I gave her a hug and yawning, filled up my water bottle from the refrigerator's filtered tap.

“See ya.” I whispered and headed off, back to bed. With any luck I could squeeze another hour's sleep out of the morning.

• Empty vases that will not hold water
Hairline cracks across the floral surface seep.
• Pain that waxes with the moon
And can’t remember how to wane.
• Heavy air that cannot transmit sunshine
But also refuses to permit rain.
• Lotteries where no one is the winner
And the tickets cost a fraction of your soul.
• Detour signs that take you in a circle
And bring you back to where you were.
• Silence where the music used to be
And left behind is just one broken Cello.
• Pieces that don’t fit together
So this puzzle can’t be done.
             ljm

I dance the dance of long forgotten flowers
Field of white marigolds
The beautiful sight makes me happy, makes me want to sing and glow.
I am the mary of my garden, sweet mary gold.
I will swirl in the the dance of lovers  up to heaven
Up in golden dress I’ll go.
To a place where all the light is
Where my lovers love will grow.
Flowers gate to lovers heaven
I am mary,
all the way I dissolve and go.
Leave golden sparkles behind me on my field of marigolds.

Shell✨🐚