perhaps it is less than great,
maybe a poor mediocre,
but such as it is, is mine,
unique, and it gifts me
easy expression of my
experience, conveying
my excitations, aliving,
freely divining what’s
within and without,
and to exhale said
thoughts and
observations

si so

we can be apart and together,
touch without touching, e v e n
love each other with our e v e r
meeting and that miracle presents
and is a present, this presentation
of my cells impressed upon yours,
thus fashioning newly creative
combinations…

this is what I am thinking,
this is what I am divining,
this is what my reasoning,
permits, encourages, creates
and with your reading this,
cements us in ways unseen
all the b u t s…and hesitation
marks that disconnect us,
are sundered and we are
a forever till reason no longer
matters, or our cells can no
longer divide and recombine
and reproduce our memories,
which are our connective tissues…

nml
3:39am
10-20-24

Some say dark matter,
Holds galaxies together,
In the endless void.

In smallest doses,
Kindness keeps humanity,
From drifting apart.

Its powerful force,
Our shield in darkest of times,
Against entropy.

Out of many one,
Held together by selfless,
Small acts of kindness.

When he got sober no one seemed to care. While he got clean everyone drank and ignored him. Back when he was drinking he would ignore everyone because most seemed to have a problem with his drinking. He never pressured or told anyone anything others seemed to give him ****.
He moved on since he was tired of being excluded and held to some ridiculous standards that had nothing to do with him. Being quiet and observant so many people would cut corners or try to pull a fast one. His mind clear way sharp compared to before.

He woke up from a crazy dream not able to move.
Anxious about his transplant
Did everything the doctors asked
Now it's a waiting game on the sidelines
Went to work early thinking the schedule was the same I was extra early
Tired of picking up the slack
Last year alienated for having cirrhosis
Thankful for the help still able
Not crippled feeling the pressure
Now staying on top of this work load
Having weird dreams not able to understand
Always determined to do and be better

~
lost library books
and broken lunchbox thermos,
her childhood under a forgotten
leaf on a pond.
she's attracted to the sound
of the breeze through her hair,
inner-city birds recommending
she listen with her head underwater,
to experience it as a fish might.
this is inescapable.

blood roses in the snow,
her unemployed martyred
fingers in the factory.
the manufactured years go by
at a price too great to recover from.
for every flash of beauty,
there is a hint of anger; a dash of violence.
this is inescapable.

her sleep-flower recital
in a dew-swathed spring morning hospital,
some kind of faraway pink funeral for
dead trees and traffic lights.
treasure impaired clouds capture
an isolated moment in time.
perhaps several moments.
perhaps several parts of the same moment.
this is inescapable.
~

It's a shame,
That roses have thorns,
But nothing's ever easy,

We're the same,
We learn to crawl,
Before our footing's steady,

Through the pain,
We all learn,
To find the meaning of beauty,

Thus, you came,
And made me fall,
And love is what you taught me.

Morning was sudden-made as an onwardness of hills,
Meant for donning crusade in chainmail glistenings,
The sun visored in misty slats of cold steel,
To glimmer fusty through the godded grove,
A holy sepulchre, earthly-dim to its rafters of oak,
Where the forest-fall of sunlight shed its rosework,
And a red-breasted bird, its song-flight of dappled gleam,
And in the meadow, where colorful whorled the tale of Saladin,
Wayside flowers shook beneath the destriers' cloth caparisons,
A sunny fullness of vales for the crusaders' forest-heartened lungs,
And when this furthering of sights was sunken from,
Still an onwardness of hills to Jaffa like steppingstones.