I'm still uncertain when I have to help others.
My mind tells me secret things
About them.
Sometimes I escape people,
I look away,
Like the Germans did
Towards the campus,
A university
Of injustice.
They thought they were smarter
Than Einstein.

Sometimes children
Acting out,
Teenagers being stood up,
A friend supporting another.
I have an imaginary friend,
He tells me those secrets,
And some wicked ones,
He makes me thirsty,
He makes my brain dry.
The teen doesn't know it yet,
He'll never be more than just a friend.

Everything was dry
The ground rock hard as my shovel dug
The leaves around me wilting from the heat
It hasn't rained for weeks
But still I scrapped at the ground
Making my hole bigger and bigger
I remembered how your hands would touch me
How you were fake when people were looking
How behind closed doors you were the monster
That everyone thought was make believe
From age six til now you were there
Turning everything I was into a nightmare.
I kept digging
You stunk beside me
A stink that would make people cringe
To me I was used to it.
My shovel scrapped loudly on rocks beside my blue house
Just big enough
The hole was
You fell in with a thump
But I knew no one would help you get out
As shovel upon shovel fell on you
I thought about how you would be remembered
With the last shovel full
I thought
You will be remembered as the man who went missing.

Seeing through eyes blanketed by a
Fuzzy blanket, only intended for winter recess
Winter recess where the snowflakes drift in and
Out of ocular view, demanding to be looked at.
Japanese paintings folding, unfolding, transforming into
Little blurry bubbles of dark greens and
Blackened blues.
Glorious sunsets, smearing the sky with red hands look
Flattened.
They’re dry and hands cannot rub enough waterfalls and
Raindrops into them,
Leaving spider webs, fresh with rouge.

I used to water my speculation,mixing it with liquid imagery..
then I'd blend it around with subtle stirrings of my thought.
Watching it change from a blank emotion, to something more.
Collecting I used my fingers clasping a way to collect a thin
film of musing swirls and then I'd gently blow..

Little shimmers would collect, floating delicately around
my head. Rainbows of perception, gently encompassing
a moment of a clear rendition. but a reflection only stains
the image held for so long till it dulls in moments before
evaporating in to tears of mist decaying into oblivion.

But then that place where my perceiving waters gently
flowed now seemed more arid than what was previously
perceived. No longer did rainbows form spherically..
No I was just a salt lake of tears, collecting white flakes
of bleached nothingness. My moment was weak, last week
I was serenading imagery now I'm just a dry lake bed.

"My words floated, but now there just dry renditions of
a drought going on in my thoughts"  

*"Were sometimes to thirsty, not realizing that we drank
to fast and the basin of our thoughts have run dry"

Push my shoulder blades together,
Force my chest open
To breathe cold, frigid air.

Remove the collar from my shirt,
Suffocating me,

Keep me on the porch tonight,
To air out uncertainties,

Have the cold air dry my stinging tears.

My body shaking from the cold,
Or maybe my lack of breath.

"Come inside now! You will freeze!"
My aunt yells to me,

But out here,
I can breathe.

Today the sun came back. No more storms. I miss the lightning we now lack.
  The desert is going to be in bloom again as the showers you shed feed the withering blooms.
The tortoise comes out, saw you early this day. Drinking the drops you laid.
The sand looks dry but only to the blind eye. As the water you shed is now hidden deep under the rock bed.
  We welcome your return. New storms that force us to learn, that life is a full circle in this harsh desert world.
For today I say farewell to the storms we had. But waiting for new ones to brighten this land.
Nashoba copyrighted 2017