Patience

never saw a baby that didn't
eventually
learn how to walk,
how to talk.

but I have seen, still do,
children who became adults,
but not grownups,
still ******* their thumbs.

don't blame the parents.
don't blame the child.
don't blame the idiotcreators,
pseudo-educators.

blame me.
always take the easiest course
when assigning blame.

Yet cherish them
tho oft they err,
have we not all,
stumbled and
extended hand
beseeching help?

let us learn
for they,
my blood
one and all,
and I call them
by one name,
each and every,
Mine.


------------------------
Hint: if you are thinking of taking your parents along for your ride, read this. Better yet, give it to them.

"And she taught me that my children
are not truly mine.
They don’t belong to me;
they’ve simply been entrusted to me.
They are a gift life gave to me,
but one that I must
one day give back to life.
They must grow up
and go away and
that is as it should be."
Charles M. Blow

I admire her in silent reverence,
though she doesn't know my name.
Milky skin and graceful curves
will haunt my every day.
She radiates a boundless wonder;
sets my heart ablaze.
Oceans swell in desperation,
longing her embrace.
And when she's fallen, I'm adrift
by daylight's sullen gloom.
No other woman can eclipse
the beauty of the moon.

When birds fly further further
as cloud in the sky shutter
the perfume in the air is heavy,
and accommodation of my is heavy
too heavy, for a sight like this
too corny, for a stride like this
But hence i walk, where to go?
Homewards i walk,
slow and slow

And creep i must through dirt
and put out the logs i burnt
turn stones or blast them
go round adversity or jump past them
I know where to go
Homewards i walk,
slow and slow

Adverse it is for me to say though
and no my friend no
i havent found my home
but i know where to go
its home and home alone
and i'll find in time though.
Marking the paths with chalk
Homewards i walk
slow and slow

You were the greatest neuronal reorganization to ever happen,
of course I don't know who I am anymore.

What was plastic seems changed to stone in a gargoyle brain and beneath a microscope the shimmering glia spell out your name over and over in little green lights, fossilizing the neurons that say:

Him.

The earth has an edge. Nobody wants to fall off.

So call me Homer, because the gods themselves could not convince me my situation's a sphere there's far too much fear in this flattened plane that understands only primitive desires and just wants you near.

Everyone knows the romanced brain could be mistaken for a ******* addict's.

But perhaps if you look more closely into my eyes you will see my irises have turned stormy, that cyclones of energy are becoming patterns that scribble and scribble arcane suggestions for a new cartography. A new story. A new being.

Supplies needed:
One strong pencil.
Enough oxytocin to unlearn an addiction.

Enough optimism to overcome an affliction, my diction is code for the way you kissed me and it underlines every sentence like the way a voice rises when asking a question.

I have so many questions.

And even though the notion of who I will be when I am not you terrifies me, like Cathy and Heathcliff I will not be doomed to roam the moors, already I know there's endlessly more, and with or without you the best is yet to come. Just as they say. No, I don't know what's in store. But I think that's okay.

Turn golden, Grey Matter, light up 'til you burn.

Reboot.
Restart.
Rewire.

*Relearn.

There is not much to gamble
a drunk ramble,
midnight gunshots
but the city didnt hear,
because violence is it's old peer
and there nothing peaceful
when putting a wager
a blade being your avenger

I'm balling
gambling, falling
and there is the traffic,
spills on the road like molten gold
all the smoke coming out of one *****
city a two thousand years old
Only god really judges you here
because god's not a bureaucrat
look at people and memories leer
and where exactly
is this god of yours at?

What's forever?
the end of time?
or just to say never and sublime,
emotions and hopes
to merely extend chokes
that are stuck as words
in our chest, which heard
the intersection of time and life
the meeting of joy and strife

Would forever mean, a few days which pass
Or does that flip too, along with the hour glass
Does time change, and does forever happen in time
is forever beautiful like a rhyme
or poetry which align
in the edge of my mind
which i shall write forever
Until forever i find
what i forever looked for

~

3:15 am…blurred red numbers tell as
I stir, reaching for what I have seen,
grasping for the moments spent in the presence of beauty
as once again you have visited me in a dream…


Pure white flowing whispered fabrics and butterfly trails
awash of waterfalls cascading and mountain top zephyrs,
rock face delights collect on horizons of hope
as softness frames your luminescent face


My eyes focus in the darkness
as your touch remains real on my skin
I am still while stars sleep in crescent moon hammocks
How can this be, I am alone, yet I was not, for I could see


You were searching for me,
barefoot on lush green vistas, daisy paths and buttercup drops
neath cotton candy clouds suspended
above echoes of love songs harmonizing with our heart beats  


Night outside my window keeps time in silent motions,
slowly sweeping breezes form rhythmic patterns
and poetry settles upon my body
as I continue to write within my now awakened mind


Destiny beckons in fruited winds
as chocolate eyes find luscious views of nature’s majesty
Your skins glows of spring blooms in petal’d bliss
and opal desires in the warmth of the day


But I had found you…you had found me…
my desperate wanderings have shown me the prize, illumined the joy
lingering in your smile…your eyes
your touch which stays with me even as I lay alone…still dreaming


Sun beamed passions follow you, caress you in
dancing shadows of flowing brown hair
breathing of morning glory skies
and shimmering dragonfly wings


At this early hour, with an apricot moon peering through the curtains
and these words which have found me
playing among my thoughts, I now realize
that my every dream is you...you are my poetry

Sixty years ago, you could have loved me
- a sailor, - a trophy wife, - an 'okay, fiancé' in a sarcastic legacy
A turn of the century turns you around and turns you into a (skate! jam! live in a van!) type of person that I am vastly uninterested in but just tryin' to be sad about somethin'

- I am sad about your big feet, your cuffed trousers, all the places I didn't want to run into you at and not letting that stop me from carting my coffin to Kansas City art museums
(Your love poems to me must be dried in caked-on mud from tires pulling away)

Did you know you're an accident?

- The whole crowd laughs, someone get me a microphone!
(Someone! Get me anything your mouth has touched!)
- I'll bury a vial of your organic germs in my hometown backyard to find later, when you're dead as your dangling doorknobs and disguised by giggling gargoyles (you are welcome, by the way)

Ultimate hide 'n' seek warrants a worthless existence and a holy trinity of the same name(s)
(The dog is under the bed)
(You are locked out on the back porch)
(I am fetal position in a parked car)

- Can we put this on the Christmas card?

Happy Twentieth, Darling! I Love You Very, Very, Very, Very Much.