Arduous late Winter
woes amplify in February
false hope

We’re all sick
of constrictive clothes
and cold climes conducive to staying in

Cabin fever running rampant
45° t-shirts & sunglasses
everyone driving with their windows down  

Hoping Vernal rituals
performed early will
hasten Spring’s arrival

I’m done
fed up
ready to move on

Going crazy in the cold
writhing to get moving unimpeded
by frigidness and snow

I’m ready for Spring
for Summer
for Fall

I’m ready for the scent
of thawing soil in the air
biking in the Sun, verdance, and flowers in bloom

I’m ready for grass between my toes
Fireflies, crickets, peepers
and warm night stars


I’m sick of frost reddened runny raw noses
sick of numb fingers and toes
and having precious few daylight hours

I’m sick of combatting glacial winds with layers,
of treacherous icy apathy,
and dreary bleak boredom

I’m sick of not being able to sit on the ground
sick of long pants, long socks, long sleeves,
and silent stagnant long nights

So, despite the fact
that I’ll pine for January
every day over 90°

Despite the fact
that when mosquitoes swarm
I’ll wish a frost would **** the little *******

and despite the fact
I’ll get just as fed up
with temperate seasons

I still want Spring
and then Summer
and then Fall

But February brings false hope
and despite the lengthening cheery sun
months still stand

between us and t-shirt weather
mild nights, grassy hills,
  and emancipation from an inclement icebox atmosphere

Learn to live
in Summer hours
happy

Always adjust
the Sails
to wise wind

There is heart in us
asking to Live
You and me

Luck chance
there is nothing to lose
by living in your heart

There is
always
Something

On Tuesday, I had
the intention
to set the precedent

of doing the
the work for Class
promptly

And for that
I had
Tomorrow

But Tomorrow
    turned  
Into..

Up at Five AM
to climb
A Mountain (Kinsman a 4000 footer)

Then back at Three
to take
A Well earned Shower

Then out at Four
to see the group of
my Best Friends

For the first time (in quite some time)
And the last time
until Summer

Then back at One
To get some
Sleep



So, even though
Tomorrow turned
to Yesterday
And I didn’t
at all
do school work

So, this Morning
I hurriedly
write this
I can’t at all
Say it wasn’t
Worth it

I can't breathe
I can't breathe
I can't breathe.

distant blurry bleary
out of focus vision draining away
to blackout. out of myself removed from my body

I can't breathe
I can't breathe
I can't breathe

tense tense tense; nauseous pressure in my chest
suddenly I'm Numb  
an empty vacant vessel

my head is filled with gauze
I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't move, I can't hear
I can't feel.

Detached, disconnected, despondent, dead
divorced from reality with nothing
just dread and anxiety

a persistent refrain
muffled behind cotton fog
a distant urgent shadow

I can't breathe
I can't breathe
I can't breathe

Cross legged
              On the floor
                                  I sit.
Intently, staring
                At the plastic
                             Penguin.
A half and two feet tall
                    Black and white
                               Save his yellow irised eyes
In my lonely boredom
                      I find consolation
                                    In his plastic Form
From a yard sale
              I adopted him
                       Several years ago
Not knowing then
                I'd find in him
                            A calming air
I think it's his simplicity
                         That in this absurdity  
                                            I find a certain ease
He knows nothing of
                Impending deadlines
                              Or personal dramas
Nor is he stuck in
                        Life's
                           banality
Simple is the plastic penguin
                                         Before me
                                                 Yet still
I find he breaks
             Life's absurd tragic
                               Monotony

Winter Solstice dark
A hopeful turn in Season
Sunlight returning

I was immersed
          In Ray Bradbury
                   and a cup of Tea

Suddenly, my bubble popped
          wrenching me into
                         the real world

On the television
          there was a commercial
                  for the new Ford Fusion
I find myself
              again
                    in a new world
          
It's last year
                   in a Friend's car
                            approaching a red light

I say "If we just drive fast enough the red light will be Blue Shifted to green"
Amused, she inquires "How fast would we need to be going?"
"Oh, I don't know. Probably approaching the  speed of light"
with a chuckle she says "What is they had a particle collider, but for cars"
not missing I beat, I shoot back "Oh they do, it's how they make the Ford Fusion" I continue laughing "You know a CARticle accelerator"
We Laugh

Back again to the present
                I'm basking in the thought
                                     of friendship            

Her voice just as real
            our laughter just as warm
                             the feelings just as real
That vivid moment
           had felt just as real
                         if not more so

I can't help but smile
                      and let out a little laughter
                                 at the significance of the Ford Fusion

Tidal emotions
                Ebb and
                            Flow
Coming and going
                    With the phase of the moon
                                                   Or day of the week
In remission they sit
                     at Times
                             leeward of the conscious mind
Somedays a deluge
                      Engulfs
                                Me­
Others, more mild,
                    The water stands
                                    unstirred (but still there)
most days though,  I find
                that I'm wallowing
                                Infatuated in a warm drizzle

Morning. Diffuse light
through frost painted panes
xylophone alarm quantifies reticent consciousness

warm sheets a Siren Song
or ****** Lotus beckoning
to stay in comfort and familiarity

crawling to a vertical orientation
jerking into up-right ambulation
the still tepid bed implores you to stay

Dredging subconscious anxieties
nebulous worries swirl; full blown gale
Lightning fears & thunderous uncertainty flash behind groggy eyes

Backhanded ocular rub
quells queasy qualms
life is ineffably uncertain

But there’s excitement in ambiguity
satisfaction in resolution
interest in intrigue

invariable inevitability
only begets; stagnation, complacency,
boredom & apathy  

Uncertainty is positive, perhaps
a necessity even  
but then again the bed is still warm

In the fog
streetlight glow:
Will-o-the-Wisps

Embers wrapped in gauze
harsh yellow light
spills into grey monotony

The world has shrunk
confined
to the pools cast by floating lamps

All else
is a faded
grey blur

A stagnant breeze
stokes the down air
into writhing ethereal vines  

Vision clouded
permeated by whisper
mist caressing  

Everything is painted mute
a drear uneasy blanket
cast into the valley

I drift
strung along
by the luminous spectral splashes

Unseen
Unnoticed
a smudge in a world of vapor

Am I
anymore definite
than the intangible fog?

March today
despite being January
At least  a good day for a walk

Ice in sepia speckled with black
wilted under
the Water’s surface

Ridges and islands
           of white ice protrude
from the murk

Delicate ripples
roil from
inky black wells

Drab and tattered
the snow trodden grass
sways in the wind
Murk
Murk
The color of tea

steaming
Chai
In a floral mug

A warm up from
the chill
  walk

I drink down
to the dregs
satisfied  


It’s still March
as if January resigned early
and February forgot to come

Forty Degrees
clad in shorts
and sweatshirt, I walk  

Air perfumed by thawing soil
and melted pond pools
painted robin’s egg blue

Ice bent trees
bow towards the road
like children’s hands

Reaching towards
pothole puddles with trickles
trailing like balloon strings

Reflecting the sky
inverted vignettes
Caste in brown

Framing the trees
skeletal fractal fingers
reaching across the tableaux

Peering through the clouds
the Sun silhouettes
black bottle brush pines

Languid
restless
I don’t even know anymore

I don’t have anything to say
nothing real
nothing fictional

Plagued today
a lack of passion
no inspiration to be had

stuck in vapid complacency
I haven’t chosen
not to feel

Anything at this given moment
would be salvation
from banal doldrum

I’ve slipped
fell
into pacificity
Observer at best
always just a passing wayfarer
part of the scenery

running a facade
a mask of my own image
sure I see myself in the mirror

but Who
Is
That?



Trapped
by the singular perspective
that is consciousness

I have no idea
what anyone feels
What another’s notion of me is

other than myself
and even then
I’m not so sure.

Does anyone
ever give me
a thought?

Who am I?
an Artist
a poet
a hiker
a biker
a walker at night

a friend
a son
a brother

An acquaintance
that guy
hey you

a fool
a loser
lost  

selfish
lonely
insecure

Maybe?
but who defines me
myself or others


Does it even matter
what I think
if I’m really not the judge

but then again
how will anyone see
what I am if I don’t know

Is there even
a place
for me?

Where am I going?
what am I doing?
Will I ever make a difference?

Will I ever carve a niche?
will I ever be remembered?
will anyone ever think of me?

Who will think of me?
how will they define me?
who knows?

I sure as hell don’t.

There’s too much light
deluge of photons
an affront to Night’s ambiance

Harsh sulfur streetlight glow:
trickery. illuminating
arteries of Artificial

making the Night
dull dark distant
confined to human construct

robbing Mystery
masking subtlety  
devouring nature

the Immensity
the Antiquity
the Beauty of Stars: gone

Lost
blotted out
by buzzing wasp’s nest

Denizens’ sting
to eyes & minds
inflaming consciousness

no longer can you Feel
small and lost
under the grandeur of nocturnal sky

all is set
before you
here to there

Elsewhere to home
Home?
Sleep in Darkness?

listening & thinking
‘til sleep succumbs
No, now rather

befalling Sickly
pallor of computer glow
we stare with blinders

all else fading
save the screen
before us

******* us in
trapping us
excising thoughts

keeping us
from ourselves
that is why we fill the night

Out of fear. To hide
but not from monsters
nor from ghosts goblins gremlins ghouls

not from lurking eldritch terror of yore
but from ourselves
from Feeling and Being

for fear of perceiving
tactile intuition in the air
of what lies ahead rather than seeing

for fear of walking by ourselves
just ourselves with unencumbered thoughts
and seeing through the facade
the facade of daytime ascribed meanings
the facade of of who we are
the facade of light

The facade that Darkness
is what is lacking
that light is normality

That light is beauty
light is hope
light is life

but it’s just that
a Facade
we plastered ourselves: an Illusion

But there’s truth
at Night and under stars
truth in the sensation of dusky hours

Artistry in ink
the allure of “unknown”
feeling small and lost

Under soft Milky Way
floating over dew laden grass
caressed by cool currents  

There’s Truth
& Beauty
in the Night