How many drafts of our lives have we lived before this one?

How many versions of myself did I actually Love?

How many times could I sincerely say I know what Happiness is?

This life has been one of clarity and certainty
I know what Love is and isn’t, of myself and for others
I realize now that Happiness is not a constant, its just not possible
But the moments of cheer and smiles are what that feeling is supposed to be

I believe I’m in one of my final chapters
Perhaps even the epilogue

Whichever it may be, my soul is definitely much closer to peace

I’m looking forward to the final draft

fear holds you captive, immured in darkness
rejection pokes at your timid soul
neglect watches with voyeuristic pleasure
and your torture continues until...

hope finds you
happiness arrives with salvation
and love embraces you with a warming light
they are here, to keep your torment at bay

Sitting in my bedroom,
That's become more of a waystation than a home,
For home to me is wherever you will be,
Zach Bryan crackles out the words I know I will think of,
When I am 20 years older,
And our son has left behind our home.

A traveler on his own journey,
Embarking to his own destination,
In time making his own mistakes,
But in them learning his own lessons,
And from that his own wisdom will be gained.

He will visit,
I know,
Although his first couple of visits will be too few and far between,
It will make you teary,
But knowing that it needs to happen all the same.

Those days to come seem so far away now,
Yet so close all the same,
But I know that we will eventually come to love every minute of it,
And wish we could live through it all again.

I woke up today,
while the sun was at its peak.

While the blue sky was
luminous and vast, and

While the air was unconfined and hot.

I woke up to a heart, thumping and thudding
a rhythm complemented by the

Singing and swaying of the evergreens
standing ever so gracefully and poise.

I woke up breathing in a sweet air that urged to coat my lungs,
racing to encompass all that I am.

Waking up today-
was beautiful and romantic,
a love letter to my being.

It was wanted,
and it gave me the courage to long for more tomorrows.

We danced to a new year
in the utopia of the music
and the Golden Oldie
songs of love, longing
and sorrow that live
in our lungs

and emerge unpredictably
all of a sudden from the depths
of our breath
caressing or storming full
of experiences that make us
feel who we are

and what it's all about, seize
the eternity of our lives
in the stream of our breath
which is also the breath of others
while we are completely
engrossed in our presence

step right in
where commodity and fiction
are deliberately blurred,

electrostatic dust collector,
after-shower body air-driers,
a spatially disconnected
from the world roll-on wife
complete with a dining table
that sinks into the floor;
don't tell her she's an android;
just don't.

she is captured
and ever ready,
she was a stenographer
but quite unsteady,
her mouth a spark of vowels
when her far off places
are aroused.

repeat this soothing motto — space, place, memory.

outside is scenographic sensation:
lightology. unbreathed air. porcelain skin.

she's the soft electric assurance
of a better life — the life which rests on device alone — a strong, sweet poison which infects the blood.

she is "the light of any home"...

The birds sing for me,

yes, they like me, and the hemp --


seeds next to my chair.