By the Spanish Arch
a few kind crusty folks
talk in the March sunlight.

Soft incantations of sweet trad
spill from a concertina, tin whistle
and fiddle, sloshing out an ambiance.

An old fella' makes a poor man's black velvet,
The ladies drink Estrella Galicia and San Miguel.
Another lad jokes: my grief counselor died last week

but he was so **** good I didn't care.

A motley crew, good-natured and friendly,
Drawn to session like moths to a flame;
Always I wonder whether I belong.

"I think in his heart Frodo is still in love with the Shire:
The woods, the fields…little rivers. I'm old Gandalf.
I know I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it"

Orwellian insight provoking apocalyptic visions of prophetic rodents,
Mammalian entropy divining inconsequential apathy,
Veracity overshadowed by facility,
Empathy vanquished by semblances of narcissistic affliction.
Alacrity a surrogate for hollow accomplishment.
Disturbances are null and frivolous in midweek ennui.

I have basked in another beauty,
a sharp jasmine needle
that has pricked the corner
of the so-called snazzy ones.
A bright torch
in a dark blue drowned room,
crumbs on a blood napkin
and the one-tone words
drop out our ears
like heptagonal coins out of pockets
or tears,
tears onto pages
in a teenager’s diary.

And then we advance
into October air
where leaves tick and tack
as typewriter keys do
across soggy ground.
Ride, walk
and now a story begins.

I don't consider various eye colors "beautiful" nor "enchanting".
In all honesty; I've never really understood the incorrigible obsession with iris pigmentation that is genetically inherited and beyond the control of the possessor of the same pair of eyes you deem "beautiful".

But in contradiction to the callous statement I've opened with;
I've found a pair of eyes that I can unhesitantly call beautiful.

It should be noted that I only fell in love with the eyes after I'd seen them roll back with pleasure
(a memory that still makes me shiver)

And from that night on; I started to notice every single beautiful thing the eyes did.

The way they lit up with frenzied excitement,
The way they burned with raging desire,
The way they filled up with salty achromatic tears.

I've loved the eyes for as long as I can remember.

But I don't consider myself lucky just because those same eyes look at me lustfully midweek; but because in a seemingly redundant life, those eyes became something to look forward to seeing; or feeling pierce through your skin on a warm Saturday night

maybe someday i'm going to wake up
and someday maybe i'll feel okay
and maybe it won't be tomorrow
but maybe that hope of someday
will be the hope that keeps me here

Did I ask for help?
Easy for those out there looking in.
Shame fills my emptiness.
Pride is long lost among the
Apathy. I reek of
Insensible poetry, palms are
Rooted to the shame of it.
;

Brain fluid's leaking
bones are creaking
I need tweaking
it's
Wednesday again.

It'll soon be 2020
wonder if I'll have
perfect vision then
when
It's 2020
plenty of time to wait
and see
I suppose.

At the stroke of a pen
chaotic
******
words from a neurotic
still Wednesday
can't write it off
won't write it away

'Have a good day'
but
you know they don't mean it
unreal
like bit coins.

another stroke of my pen
but
when the missus finds out
I'll be in trouble.

Still Wednesday and I've already
blinked hundreds of times
looks like the magic's on a
coffee break

Looks like I
will have to change it
manually.

But it's Wednesday
which is not to say it's
any less a day
than any other day.

If there was another way
to say it's Wednesday without
it sounding that's it's not okay
I'd say it.

Wednesday
nearer a pay day than not
and that's got
a certain charm to it,
so I see no harm in it
being Wednesday.

Teddy with his glass eyes
looking at me with great surprise,
I say,
this is no epiphany
look and see
this is just a
Wednesday and
so it goes.