I have roamed around in the emptiness
for so long, that I have grown accustomed
to the echoes of my own footsteps.

The paintings that adorned the walls of our home
only serve as a reminder of the things
that used to be joyful and beautiful

Oh, I remember every moment that we shared
our love and laughter filled the halls
it is those moments that fuel my desire to continue.

The breakfast table is no longer bathed
in the morning sunshine
only shadows of an empty chair remain.

Grey is my world now, not just from a lack of color
It's the darkness creeping in.
Your love, the light that was in my life, is fading

The picturesque words that my heart spilled for you
now cluttered the rooms and hallways
a testament to our glory days

The only thing that remains are the sunsets
Each evening I sit on the porch swing we shared
and watch as the day has set into its inevitable darkness

The alarm is warning me another day is here
I used to remember everyone I encountered throughout the day,
now I don't even remember driving home.

I leaned over and smelled the paper flower
you made and pretended it still held your scent.
Another beautiful sunset drawing to close
the latest in a long line of meaningless days

I stare out at the blank spotless sky
darkness darkness as far as the eye can see
to the point that I wonder, are my eyes open or not.

Then a spark erupted the silence
that woke me from a restless sleep.
A bright light in the recesses of my mind.
Could this be the hope that I have searched for?

Or is it only another reminder of how much I miss you.

The cutest face,
big blueish eyes,
Soft reddish hair,
Angel in disguise.

Best sense of humour,
The widest of smiles,
Most loving personality,
Voice heard for miles.

My single savior,
From going insane,
Keeps me alive,
Keeps me in lane.

My life isn't perfect,
But with her it feels such,
She is my baby,
I love her so much

Knowledge friction, war stories
told five generations deep,
to the future where Ursala made you
curious enough to swallow a thought.

Meta, after all ready, phor filling,
as with allegory and parables, bits
of wish and wonder ifery…
inner world building time to think.

Here to there is very far, by virtue
of our common measure, from…

seafoam unnoticed, save in stone…
quantum foam in all at once done, set

Sit with me,
tell me if you know
why some folks are free as me,
and others are bound in reasons
old as opposing force used for bubbling.

See us thinking, unspoken words, but
words, still, continuous thought held
as tiny bubbles
along swirlumphants hardwired
with science of the certain inner sort,
the ways of wise ones, learned thinkers
who recollect the processed thoughts, say

listen, if there were a way peace was made
once, were there these thoughts we think now?
Bubbling in my soul, they said, back when?
How is peace released inside the storm?
Chaos 70 facets deep, same idea, resist order.

The experience acknowledged, chaos of cream
in caffeine , f'eine, eh, so we'd've known, by now.
First peaceable thought spared ignorance today.

We be in our own bubbles of being, foaming now.

If we were once thought God's big joke.

Melvin Redsocks, the fat, queer kid.
Boy Scout, Union 76 pump jockey suicide.
Trauma drama life experience, done.
Let me imagine being you, no,
you know, dead men don't reman the same,
reimagining a child's mind, remains
something, an art, a formula, per
haps…
co instants re co noticed, yes, that person,
that mind thought this were we in tune to time.

Bubble bound, poli-mere, essence-initial wall,
signal zero beat
line to cross, twister to pass through, on this level.
Timing tuning through the noise, seeing all things flow.
Mental muscle, musty mold, crusty granite green
wet November fungal bloom, foaming coincidents
electrical analysis laxloossschu iiclysis o'uses we's
discerning freedom's bubble form, cosmic wind
spinning…past the past poor Melvin was in,
we realize
a
hormonal braking idea, a geared pineal whisper,
slow
thinking things think thoughts are listening prayer.
Cause cream is lipid, resistance is related to hot and cold.
What you comprehend, bubble-wise, you hold true.
Grease slick on the puddles in the drive way salt.
-colors I knew a painter who painted miniatures of
Some old ideas, self evident to landed men, in consort
at the inspirited metatask-tization nationalized as this
version of the grand aspiration to be of one mind,
republican rectitude balanced on gravities ego.

What you learn you know, that's life, now…
in matters of value.
Love me some o'dem balyous. Bacavaca'saltmeat now.
More all you knows, to go on, win. Shibboletm'***

What's a thought worth. Unthought.
Clear con
science confidence, psy why come, go gnosis see\
'snot
life's tricks, time and chance,
there you are,
here I was, thinking we can make up minds.

Bubbles in seafoam. Seen from the basin
at the edge of the salt.
Sold we loose the salt sown on our soil.
Seeming we become the testing grounds, run on.
Salt was said to ionize any quest. As my sacrifice
I lost my salt, and left it to mark the way I went.

I put the photo
on Meta somewhenanowagonon 'won run on will to

Keep on, holding
a certainty too far to fathom from the top.

Fo' a long time, emnity and me, we run on,

way back long now, 200 jahreback'ld be 1723,
tough winter in this same world, then lit by fire.

No matches low men could be allowed to use, yet.
This long before then, in the east…
Fire works brought laughing dragons daun wu wei, then
in the land that tamed the Khan, in those days,
simultaneous cultural bubble, gurgle
gut level, listen, all neurons on, skin, prickle, **** clench
ankle to toes, tighten, listen, mirror then…
Cold. Peace is easyier, if you are sure of winter warmth.
And basics.
Fundamental satisfaction, wait, winter out state, inside.

Exhale, stretch and wiggle and half hiccup… and breathe
release, loose, let it go.
We have smelled musty ourselves, we know errors
as well as any messaging mind devised
in everwasery times.
- the heat depends
- on reality, we need friction, fitslips
Knots in sense since whenning was a way we do
grindwhinesohighwe all never listen any more, it is all noise.
Listen to the ten thousands whistling ever changing times.
If you resist the wind,
you lift off, as dust thou art, and so on…

We fly in a single reader's mind loosed to feel free as a word.

You are the diseased soil in which these doomed seeds were sown,

You are the poison tree from which these evil apples dropped,

And you are the acid rain that raises the earthworms from their
underground abodes
and eats

eats

eats away.

This life I live,
Is not for me.

I wish for something
Broader,
A big as can be.

To fly through skies
Like a wondrous bird.

To step out from curtains,
And finally be heard.

And how absurd,
This life I live now.

Through the mind
I live instead,
Somehow.

Chores and rules,
I cannot choose.

I have no voice
In this house of noise.

But alas,
I bring hope.

It will guide me to cope.

Your presence be known, if needed,
In a pinch,
You’re here or there when summoned,
Yet never praised,
Often overlooked and misunderstood.

Always guessing where this road will end,
How backwards is over where you bend,
For all of whom claim to be your friend,
Your classiness and craftiness I will always commend.

Finding nowhere to rest my head,
You were a place to lean on,
A host when I had no place to dream,
A mentor of my bizarre fantasies,
Of all trades that you’ve mastered,
That I aimed to perfect.

Ages lightyears apart,
Yet still closely in tune,
We play the same music,
A grasshopper to your sensei,
I sail the endless seas of your knowledge,
A lighthouse to my rocky waters.

With shared poverty,
You scraped together your last,
To fill my belly with lamb,
Your cynicism of man,
Your confidence in me,
A father and son, not quite
A grandfather and grandson, hardly,
An odd couple that just makes sense.

A Sinatra-like scholar,
With more brains, ***** and bravery,
You are a man’s man for men,
Everything that I want to be,
And everything that I could need,
In a friend.

I am useless,
Clueless,
Naive
And foolish.

I am a child
Of chance.
A night of romance.

I am an early-morning
Call,
A surprise to all,

Aren't I, mother?

One that can use no tool.
A waste to the teacher,
Within a school.

Aren't I, father?

A child
'Out of control'.
Seemingly 'too old'
To be consoled.

But alas,
You wish for connection.
How should I know of it?

I am prone to rejection.

Subjection,
To your own mistake.
A choice you made.

The icing on the cake.

But now I am far
Away from your pain.
For I live in worth,

As you live in shame.