The moon is shining,
Doing its utmost to raise werewolves
Fireflies are stuck up there too
Sometimes they flicker out
They begin to cry
Tears pouring down
And not man nor beast but wind howls now

My little slice of the world's diorama stage
Is full of drama and love and sorrow and beauty
- And here I am
Tasting other people's feelings.
Letting their honey drip and slide
As ecstasy through these veins
Positively high on the depth of these windows
I perve at lives that dance in poetic sentence
But they know the blinds are open
And sometimes, just sometimes,
They catch a glimpse through my own
Hearts full of same excitement
Curiosity
Satisfaction
As they flip through my pages

Do you remember that day
We go in your old Volvo after class
And drove west out into west of nowhere
Passing a museum about dinosaurs
And their place in western Mass.
Until we found that old, small town
That belonged in another era,
With small houses, and small streets
And signs on the doors giving various history degrees.

The music you played didn’t fit
With the scenes we passed,
Children on bikes that laughed at us
As we stared down their streets
Hands over eyes like explorers
Notebooks out and ready like cartographers
Pens tips chewed in the ends of our mouths
Like the writers we wanted to be.

And It was all fun and games
Until we had to turn around,
In that corn field of all places,
That seemed to never end,
Because it was fall and the corn stalks yellowed
And I imagined they would have crunched under our feet
In the cool autumn air
I breathed through the open window.

You went deer-in-the-headlights
As some farmer came by in his truck
And you started joking
-Until fear start creeping-
“This is the end for us,”
Because it looked like something from a film

Where two college kids die alone in a cornfield,
****** unsolved
Scythe found with no prints
The beginning of a bad movie script.

But we lived,
Because he gave us directions back home
Back to route 93
Or 94, or 270
Where we parted for one of our final times
Before you left for the big city,
Losing this memory to history
Like all those little houses
And all their little families.

I am the Narrator. I Narrate. You read what I have narrated. I often wonder how my words will be digested by you the reader, will my words spark an intense desire to burn in the Fire of What Is ? I am the Narrator, I am not Jesus ******* Christ - OK, or O ******* K ! There never was a Jesus ******* Christ dear readers. Oops I have digressed, alas I digress an awful lot; my mother told me I distracted the delivery doctor and nurses at my own birth, something I cannot recall myself. Wonder if he had a beard. You see my mother had an intense dislike of bearded men, and if this be true then my birth must have been deeply traumatic for her. Such a brave woman to carry on and remain as my mother. She was perfect for the residency. Mother, wherever you are please do take a bow.

Just a reminder - I am the Narrator. I Narrate. And you read what I have written - this is not spoken word(unless you want to read it aloud)it is the written word of the Narrator - nor is it the word of god, and I have already mention Jesus ******* Christ, so I will swiftly and smoothly move onwards to the goal; I will rise to the challenge, I will seek the final word. Mother did not have a sense of humor. She never laughed - never. Smiles did occasionally appear. Mother, oh desperate and perfect mother of mine. You never lost your shine.

This is the introduction dear patient reader. Be brief I said to myself. Yes ! I can be brief, but they all laughed and cried so much they ended up in a river of oral, nasal and tear ducts; what messy contents. Be brief ! Brief ! Be ******* brief ! So here I am, but who am I ? What am I ? Yes, yes, I know I am the Narrator for the duration of these words I write. It is a role, one of many roles I will play during the day and occasionally the night. Who is it that drives this wreck of a physical vehicle, which has changed beyond recognition since my face appeared from my mother's womb. STOP ! OH PLEASE STOP ! Is what I imagine you are screaming out loud at me - the Narrator.

So here is brief in the style and pomp of your Narrator. I am sitting upon my throne which is not made of gold. Oh but please I must refrain from letting loose and going on another rampaging digression. Do tell me dear reader when you next see me. You will wont you dear reader ? I am here writing these words and you are there reading these words, which is kind of cute without wearing any dazzling suit. I can't avoid the occasional rhyme, its such an effortless joy. Here endeth the introduction. Yes ! I, the Narrator have completed the unimaginable. I wonder where the words will take us ? I'm quite excited - are you dear reader ? Life is a freshly created golden wave head butting its invisible opposite. Everything is already known. But by whom, or should that be Whom ? Or am I going down another digressive hole ? And so dear reader I do give to you the final full stop.


Lenny Gazbowski(c)2015

If my body was a mountain, how would you begin your exploration?
Would it start with your hands running fingertips over the different surfaces – smooth, soft, rounded – understanding the terrain…Or a deep inhale - one that would leave a subtle smoky taste in your mouth. Would my skin provide a map for you, or would you blindly travel me in the dark? Would you sit awhile, close your eyes, listen to the sound…or take my earthly warmth firmly… If my body was a mountain, would you want to explore?

Taking long walks
I wander,
in wonder

In cities dense,
Over sparse
countrysides

Forging new paths,
Stopping often
To observe, reflect

And I think of you, my friend...


MichaelShaddox.com
Lose Yourself. Find Yourself. Be Yourself.

There are 140,490 miles of railroad in the United States,
21,000 miles of Amtrak rails,
Amtrak owns 2,142 railway cars
plus 425 locomotives,
only one station near Atlanta,
(the ones by Toccoa, Jesup, and Savannah don’t ******* count)
and just the two of us.
My point is:
There’s a good chance I’ll see you again someday

Maybe plans will never work out,
and I won’t have you in my life the way I’d like.
Maybe we’ll grow into two completely different lives,
but we promise to meet up every five years.
Maybe we both just disappear for a while,
and just happen upon the same town/train station one day.
Maybe we’ll never be close friends,
or lovers,
but maybe,
just maybe,
there’s a good chance I’ll see you again someday.

When I was young,
I used to follow the train tracks.
For miles and miles and miles,
just waiting for my train to take me away.
And when I got home I’d have so many stories to tell.
I saw two dogs *******,
And a family of opossums,
And a dead deer,
And a really pretty bug,
(And I got you some flowers but I dropped them,
when I thought the dogs were chasing me)
But your parents would always get mad at me for disappearing
when they’re supposed to be watching me until
my mom gets home.
And they’d tell me,
“do you have any idea how upset she’d be if
she knew you ran off like that?”
And I’d apologize for going off by myself
And they’d say,
“We forgive you. We won’t tell her
Just this once.”
But they’d never
never hear me
when I tried to tell them:
I can’t help it. There’s a big, beautiful, country out there
…and I want to see it.

Then when I got older,
I kept following the train tracks.
For miles and miles and miles.
Except now, I was a little more grown up.
I didn’t just disappear anymore,
walking along the tracks.
No, I had responsibilities
and obligations
and most of all,
a little money.
So, this time, I actually got to ride the train.
So my trains took me away,
And when I got home I had so many stories to tell.
I saw two drunks *******,
And a family of musicians,
And a ****** on the nod,
And a really pretty tree,
(And I got you some jewelry, but I dropped it,
When I thought the drunks were chasing me)
But more than all of that,
I saw a girl.
She was beautiful and funny and kind and smart.
But they didn’t have time to listen to my stories,
About the drunks and the tree and the girl,
Because we had responsibilities and obligations.
So I didn’t even bother
Trying to tell them,
I have to go back. There’s a big, beautiful, country out there
…and I have to see it.

So,
I don’t know if I’ll see you again, or
If I’ll get to follow all the train tracks I want,
But there are 140,490 miles of railroad in the United States,
And it’s a big, beautiful country out there,
So it might be planned,
Or by mistake,
Or luck,
Or divine providence,
But I think
I hope
I pray
There’s a good chance I’ll see you again someday.

moist deep exploration
finding what
makes you smile, or understand.
near my ears the
same tongue
talks ******,
feeling around
my mind touching
my imaginations
sweet spots