you wander helplessly from afar,
tragically beautiful
in mystery
as you walk blindly searching--

I'm fascinated--
your intimate brown eyes
search everywhere,
and I wonder if I should
break the mysticism
and approach you--

"do you have aluminum foil?" you blurt out,
having given up your great venture
and I realize that it was intrigue alone
that drew me to you--

Wanting to know.
Wanting to understand.
Longing to hold your hand.

Common interest.
Common ground.
Liking how that sounds.

Likes and dislikes.
Friends and foes.
How do we want this story to go?

Something to fear?
Something to embrace?
Or is it just all part of the chase?

The little black book I keep next to my journals sits on a bookshelf I made from recycled wood. A fresh coat of paint may hide a splintered past unknown to me, but that is of zero importance when refurbished trees that died for a purpose hold books containing paper collected from a different tree that is now dignified in service.

One that expands as more hot air is blown, and shrinks when cold shouldered. The little black book holds numbers without faces, but the pocket in the back holds a face that could never be confused as paint by number.
It maps out the girl I've been searching for that never deserved a page in this book of lust, only the pocket in the back that will one day accept my trust.

And the reason this little black book is kept on the recycled bookcase is because the paper is also recycled, the same as the trash that litters the pages.

Does it ever unnerve you to think, at night, at home
That despite the innumerable odds for life elsewhere
We are, or to the extent of our knowledge, all alone?
This I find, is nearly too much at times to bear

Does it ever unnerve you to think, at night, in bed
That despite the billions of people on this earth
You rarely meet new people, because of all you left unsaid?
Due to some misplaced, and wrong sense of self worth?

Does it ever unnerve you to think, at dusk, at home
That despite both the innumerable odds for life elsewhere
And the billions of people on this earth, we still feel alone?

Set fire to my mind
before you warm my heart
I cannot survive
by your touch alone
Ignite my thoughts
into firey passion
or walk through the darkness
alone

You cried.
Your eyes were red and misty and
I was guilty; it was my fault but
I thought you were beautiful then.

You cried.
Without shame and unabashedly
And I was torn between comforting you
Or committing the sight to memory.

You cried.
Though I've seen little emotion on your face
I'm **** well sure I've never felt awe
To see anyone cry without any sort of grace.

You cried.
Somehow, that inspired me to write.
You cried.
And instantly made a friend of me for life.

Two men sat knee to knee in a bar
One troubled one not
the second turned to the first and said
hit me man what do you got
the first was slow to speak
he pushed around his drink
and finally recounted the memory
that pushed him to his mental brink

the first recalled
he was driving down a road
and a woman began walking at his car
slow as a toad
she pranced in the middle of the lane
like she owned it or something
like a 40 mile an hour speed limit
was all she needed for protection

the first explained
why he couldn’t shake it
no matter how loud he honked to end her trance
he simply couldn’t break it
did she mean to die?
is that why she greeted oncoming traffic with a smile?
does she know how quickly it could end
that life is not a trial

the second calmed the first
maybe she was lost
maybe she was simply crossing
maybe she’s a daredevil
the second poured out two shots
and the two took them together
the night would progress
they’d forget the incident for forever

as the second drove home
he noticed something flickering in his headlight
stopping short he rammed his horn
as a woman skipped away in fright
he had almost killed her
she had almost died
the second man got home and collapsed
dialed the first then cried