If you really like music,
                  there is a tambourine in my chest
and I am almost always shaking. Let's hang out
                  and study each other's octaves while the sound-waves
travel in and out

Cautious
Not raucous
Planned
not random
too bad
too safe
      waif like
       chances
      stray
      flashes
soot and ashes
no smile
endless miles
walked,
talking,
no one listens,
sweat glistens
like a flooded furrowed
but brow
beaten down
by life choices
wrong voices
filling ears with corny
jokes, told to an audience of one,
choking on the
cigarette tobacco
bits in the unfiltered,
last bit of gentle
human kindness,
lost,
while all else is too safe,
relentless
looking and taking,
every rock hides a
treasure,
every empty cup a
full measure of what
seems deserved
           reserved,
           but not
a life
which
is too safe.

Shopping cart full
makes one wanted,
and unwanted at
the same time as
not everything in
belongs,
but all is owned,
by the one who
pushes the cart,
like life has pushed
him, around and
down flights of stairs,
with only an empty bottle
to match the empty life,
his children, his wife,
would not know him
if they saw him on
the street,
bet you he writes
mean poetry,
while mine is too safe.




©DWE032014