I lay in the center of a meadow,
My eyes trail the drifting clouds above,
tracing their paths and drawing sketches on the blue canvas.

Towering evergreen trees surround the meadow,
their leaves creating a ornamental border,
A frame for the flowing sky.

The clouds drift past, into and out of the frame,
a slow parade of shapes
shifting and changing, coming and passing.

This slide show of white swirls dances for me,
in drawn out motions like molasses ebbing from a tree.
They envelope my sight, roots spread from the
back of my head into the meadow floor,
connecting and expanding,
melding me to the ground.

I lay for hours, the clouds morphing to the clear
nights sky, bathing me in moonlight.
Shining stars vibrate, shake in their molds,
and I listen closely to their hushed advice.

Upon Death my thoughts have been anchored
much to the dismay of my creaking ship.
The precious drops of life's morphine drip
siphoned away by the gathering storm clouds
of my coming decay.

Move forward I shout, go past even the veil!
Pull up the anchor, wind it tight and toss it
out of sight, to be used when the time is ripe.
Each passing second, hoard together and hold
give a soft kiss and then mold.
Mold it, as putty in the hands of a child
or wood and whittling knife in the
hands of the wizened man rocking in his chair.

See the seconds, laugh loud and clear,
let the echoing chorus reverberate off
the imagined walls at the limits of you,
shaking them, loosening the containing
mortar and bricks, reduce them to ruble.

This all should not have been
the crisp morning air, the damp thunderous nights,
my ears perk up at each just to see,
for just the chance to be.

Do not bargain the waking seconds as they tick away,
do not auction them to the impatient void,
it will feast on them and demand evermore.
Run to the skies, drown in golden light!
Cross red stained eyes with your other,
clasp hands and rejoice
for we are all in this together.

Remember the hues at the edge of the forest,
memorized and lost in them my eyes once again
catch the flashing greens of wind blown leaves,
surrounded by flies heavy with maggots to breed.

The cracks begin to show, I pull back the battering ram
once more and push, crashing it into the barrier,
chiseling away the limits of the barricade,
the limits of an anchored ship,
and prepare my stock for the open sea.

I’m st st st st stuttering
In the corner I’m muttering
I tap my feet I dance my dance
All for the courtesy of a passing glance.

S s s s s sorry
The words jumble and tumble
Out of my mouth and onto the floor
Meeting the ground, gathering and mixing,
Melted hues congealing into gray.

W w w w why are you here
Why do you sit where sit,
Love where you love?
I I I can’t take it anymore
I can no longer fake it

T t t the light it terrifies me
The single bulb glares at me,
St st st staring, burning my pupil
Until my vision is full of
The blinding light
And my lungs full of a
releasing sigh.

Time has its hands around my neck, strangling me.
A diamond clock around my neck like Flavor Flav,
hanging off me, pulling my head down to the dirt.

The tortuous second, an arduous minute
I grind my teeth at the passing hour.
I squeeze each passing day, holding tightly,
but it always escapes between my fingers,
liquefying and dripping through, evaporating.

Wake and pace,
I wake and begin to pace.
Weaving a trail through the leaves at my feet,
the meadow floor becoming my revolving door
with only one exit, a blinking red sign
flashes, its arrow pointing directly down
imprinting itself in my pupil.

Sing the song of the day!
Whether it be swaying morning Jazz
or a night owls rhythmic hoots,
sing it loud and let it ring,
for you never know the last song you will sing.

Walk in circles, hum the tone,
whatever it takes to get you past that
glaring sun high in the sky at each passing noon.

I relate to the bottom more than the top
the underside, the ***** and brushed aside,
A pencil broken under a writers heavy hand
as he schemes a way to **** his favorite
character.

I never saw eye to eye with the top.
They move in unfamiliar patterns,
talking in gibberish and doing
the tap dance of jesters.

I relate to the stick man
the half hearted attempt to cure
what we are sick with, or of.
Half shaded in,
eyes different shapes,
A toothless smile on my face.

A scribble of hair, a crooked nose
in a 2D rendition of my own design
drawn on a piece of paper
crumbled up and tossed in the trash.

Always in the night
you’ll see the lights flashing
through the window in my room.

Home alone on a summer night,
hunched over my desk
or pacing around in circles.
Lost in imagined worlds so grey
grasping at straws of fleeting thought
half of which are left unsaid,
forgotten and unreal.

I thought of something once
and I let it slip away
So I’ve scribed my words ever since.
My phone lights and rings but I flip it over,
Ive had it muted since I was a boy.

Alone alone alone
baby I’m talking to myself again.
I can’t even feel myself again,
the picture sways and shakes
slowly rotating right in front of my eyes.

On empty days I have empty eyes
and I never catch the words they say.
Who are you?
What is this?
Could you please describe the form you saw
In the form of flowing mist?

Don’t call me, I’m sleep walking.
Don’t text me I won’t reply.
I’m laying sprawled with my back to the dirt
trying to pick my place among the stars
a place where I can recline into eternity,
my own place to pace through the heavens.

My eyes furrow and my brush stops
As I take a deeper look at the woman posed
across the room.
She stands there, silent and austere,
eyes lost in thought and staring out the window, her naked form illuminated
by the gray light of storming day.

I rub my chin and drink her in with my eyes,
Attempting to capture her shimmering
form and flowing aura,
the water droplets from the rain outside
shadow and race down her body.
Her striking power as bolts of flashing
lightning reflecting in her eyes slowly
blinking eyes.
I see the tragedy of the diminishing hour
as our time together always becomes shorter.

She exudes the feeling rocks feel
when caught in a narrowing stream.
The clear water flows over the stone,
shining it clean with a cleansing touch,
rubbing off the dirt and showing the beauty
even in-between dull shades of gray.

-lightning flash-

She glows like a Star in a deep December night
When all hope is lost, except to follow that light.
How could I capture, how could I mold
her magnificent form into but a splotch of paint?

Squashing and cutting, limiting her vastness
to the confines, a prison, of this canvas.
She glances over because she noticed I stopped,
And gives me a concerned look
to which I reply with my best attempt
at a reassuring smile.

Her concern fades softly away,
replaced with a smile and a kiss
blown my way, floating smoothly
through the air, which I eagerly catch
and hold to my chest.

She looks back out the window, her coy smile fading to chiseled granite once again.
I am stuck alone, rubbing my chin and thinking in circles, once again.