It's safe in daylight, you know.

I drive through my crumbling suburbia
Over all of its bumps and cracks
And feel so small, yet so
Infinite.
Feeling loosely connected
To every signpost,
Every stray cat,
Every filled and vacant house.
Part of a chain that runs its course
Across the entirety of existence.
I am a spectator, an observer of
Humanity though, admittedly,
Not quick to a level conclusion of it.

Yes, days are safe. They are familiar.

But it's dusk where the malaise sets in,
A disturbance that unsettles the muscles
Under my skin
And has me toss and turn for hours on end.
It's night where I trip barefoot
Over every folly,
Every small tick in the course of my life
In a path strewn with broken glass.

It's where the realms between your sanity
And where your demons sleep
Grow the weakest,
Churning your head with static and poison
And constantly reminding you
How easy it is to find your own faults,
How difficult it is to say,
"I love myself."

I wonder most nights when this all started.

I wonder every night when it'll stop.

We are but one
of those tiny specks of light
that color this world.
The canvas, empty night of a map,
our fireworks are but
faint shimmers in the
lightning of the infinite.

There you are with your flaws
And I still love you
I love you for every piece of who you are
Not just your smile or the fact
that you make me happier
I love every part of you
Even the sides that I don't understand
Or the corner that brings me to tears
And you should know
That I shall love you
Even if I'm afraid of the void
And i'm not sure if I have wings
To fly.

Infinite vs. finite
Lasting vs. ephemeral
From ancient history
to the present day
Humankind has been
fighting for one or
two things only:
to permanently stay
or permanently exit

An abundance of time,

At your disposal.

Experiencing creation, witnessing

A festering fiend, fawning

Over your cessation.

Struck by lone rays you

Continue,
           drifting off into space.

nothing is trite, nothing is optional
waited and waited and to the heavens
no prying notion, not even a fear escapes
the mind's tricks or worry that phrases
could be repetitive-

exuding the forces of the world
legs and arms and eyes and mind
there are not dactyls to measure
such words, when the words do not
yet exist.

There is no unfinished ends that need soldering,
I sent the letters in my last life. The one where upon me
You crept up and looked at the chasm and held the rocks
From my pockets in your hands, and took off my robe.
I don't even know how long I'd been staring into the deep
Insanities of The Plateau, counting sheep, and hedging bets,
Slowly going completely into the Pacific, rising and bowing
Inside the blooming ripples of those fourteen foot waves that
Never made the break wall. Maybe it was I colliding with
Those enormous ships of victory I envied that bore the flags of
China and tore away from the coastline.

I don't care what you say, I believe it was you calling.
Beethoven could have heard the call.
In fact, he did. It's the odes of joy.
Don't get hung up on improper word use,
There will be time for us to write each other's sentences,
Build one another's dictionaries, and bend who's and what's, where's,
How's, and why's.

What azurean universe lives in the cornucopia of pulchritudinous lumens
That shape your eyes? What language is it that spoke its creation? Teach Me the languages that breed the shaky and vibrant voices of rock and roll.
The ridges inside the tide that bring the sea life to live. I will, I will hunt Dinosaurs and Guitarasaurus Rex will hang its Ray Ban wearing head of Enormous proportions out of the deciduous treeline to dazzle us with
The gorgeousness of delta blues rock and pre-Cretaceous 50s icon pop
While we slide on the wooden floors having our sock hop.

Seussing us up into a pinwheel of onomatopoeia
And nightscape of stardust, song, and merriment.
The beginning of a memoir, the counting back of hours like
Driving with the Ferrari California's gears in reverse to shed
Off the extra mileage, or swim in salt water pools, and drink
Pink and orange aeviternal eves and the groves of lavender, lilac, and Streaming cerise bands of light entomb these two lovers in the Mesmerizing drove of morning, upon some moon-draped porch
Some Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday in
Satirical snow-covered and 50º Chicago.

Say I can play guitar and I can play guitar
But only when we're teaching we,
Sunday thru the ends of years
And the offspring of those years.
Back from the hours, unlocked by the tides, and
Hemmed to the interstices of fingertips and
Internal yearnings for olives and olive juices.
Eves, morns, and the 33 hour day.
Where in your enchanting cadence of life
All is well, extending beyond good and beyond okay:
excelsior. Since our bonds coalesced just this past Sunday.

For Saranell

Practical clothing
Practical thinking
Logical habits
Stress on the ball
***** are rolling
Lights turning in
Flickering to constant
Shadows grow
Shadows shrink
They never disappear