Hidden treasures
are always best
when unexp
ected.

madness,
creeping up
no not creeping--
swelling, crashing!,
frothing and spilling forth from the soul.

shaky hope,
desperation,
acceptance. loss.

abandon the ship and your cargo, ye slavers...
Typhoon Coming.

chugging
twanging
thumping
snarling -

no drugs needed; the tempo sends me into a tailspin of bliss.

a frightened ear would perceive a dirge but
to the acquainted
it can only be a hymn.

blue hotel blasting
lines on the paper swirling
back aches, eyes throbbing

sometimes I cocoon myself
in pastel memories of
you
with that fuzzy blanket and that stuffed animal
I get wistful

and then reality jolts me
out of reverie
it was never an us thing
it was always a me with you thing
that old blanket provided no comfort
it clung to me
wrapping its frayed corners around my ankles

that cute little stuffed thing was not
a relic of happier times
it was a reminder
of all of the ****** up things in your head
which swirled around the dark
and crept toward me;

strangling me
under that heavy blanket

downstairs, we have newcomers.
across, they have settled.
us... we are ignoring the inevitable uprooting
of our hard-won memories.

My vessel of possibility
overflows and
drowns me opportunity.

there's always a line in the sand
between the then and the now;
how regrettable it is to have to be the one to draw it.

to carry the weight of loved ones
with their golden hopes and leaden limitations
(founder/) requires:
an alchemist of dreams
with a concrete heart of indestructibility
and the type of love that is quiet,
dedicated,
and solid (foundation.)