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awas amidst
the bits and bobs of my pseudo-sleep,
check my watch oft and habitually,

understand
that the actual time is not what I seek,
no, what I desire is reassurance of
some sort,
that time is present,
that it is yet measured,
in my about, breathable,
that time is there,
for it is the wonderous of wonder,
it’s a
present of and is love itself,

love is time…
(think on it)

it is all possibility,
the future in
slow motion is both
realizable & visible even
as we daily practice realizing it,
as if
time is
snuggling us

as a glove,
asking us each,
place your hand inside,
and waving yours
airy about
into your
new existence,
that we dare not waste,

so
write and right
are no accident, but
equals, friends,
brothers and sisters,
one is both
writ in the dark hours
when the watch
watches over me
9/17/24
Tears fall down my face  
Heart heavy with sorrow  
Memories linger close  
Aching for tomorrow.

Gone too soon  my dear  
Leaving me alone  
Life will never be the same  
In this empty home.
My uncle died almost 6 years ago, and it was his death date recently so I wrote this for him.
Fly high, Uncle Gus
Such love I have felt,
a spell cast under birdsong

Held in the arms of wild orchestra,
heart dancing in the autumn wind
awas amidst
the bits and bobs of my pseudo-sleep,
check my watch oft habitually,
understand
that the precisive time is not
what I seek,

no,
what I desire is reassurance of
some sort, that time is present,
that it is
a measurable actuality in,

my about,
a breathable actuality
woven into my
Body’s  Constructional
Constitutional Cconsciousness


that time is there, here,
for it is rhe

wondrous of all wonder,
it is a
present of, from,
and,
is love itself,

love is time…
(think on it)

it is all and only
butpossibility,
the future in
slow mo
is both
realizable & visible ,
even some part knowable;
its somes & sums,
as we daily
practice realizing it,
as if
time is a
smuggler of snuggles,
comforting but not
for too long
like
a new lover’s
exploratory
beginning beguiling explanations
reforming our ardor
into
viability

or

a glove
asking us each:
slow s l i d e
your hand inside,
then,
newly commence
waving yours,
airy all about

conducting a new self
into your
precious moment of precarious
existence,
that we dare not waste!

so:
write and right
are no accident,
but purposed
equals,
friends,
brothers and sisters,
one and both
coexisting
at
in
the same time…
writ in the dark hours
when the watch
watches over me
9/17/24
I prefer to talk of myself as a first person
My third choice is the second.
The one I use is the third.
She’s the one that judges a lot.
NEATs - this poem, 91724
Smiling for the screen,
a mask I wear.
Inside,
I hide a truth laid bare.
Lost in the tide
of countless eyes,
A crowded world
Blind to my cries.
The real me,
hidden from the frame,
A soul unseen,
though I look the same.
Beneath the sky
So wide and blue
Dreams take flight
Both old and new
In quiet moments
Whispers flow
Where only the
Heart and stars
Will know
Loving you,
A silent ache
A path I know
I shouldn't take
The lines are drawn
The rules are clear
Yet I still wish you were here
A heart that beats
But cannot speak
Longing for a love it
Cannot seek
So I will keep
This flame inside
A secret that the
Stars will hide...
Siting in the silence
of my dreams
In the depths
parched dry
by their screams
they lie

Every chance
they were used
and abused
Bludgeoned
and egged on
all for nothing

I remember
I remember
I remember
I can't forget
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