on moonlit nights
concrete beds and
pillows of flora sing
songs

empty cold winds beg
company

starlight's wingspan
warm, maternal
and cooing that shares that
macabre bedtime fairytale love

a silence that has become
a wool-knit cap of late
hours,
smoke,
bitter drink

an excuse really,
for desperate wandering
and the freedom to stand still
pacing stagnant

shallow grey rainwater neighbor waves
nods

the choice, holistic,
to breathe and live
or sigh and think,

be a man--
adult--
problem-solve;
industrial

untrimmed grass,
the words of a friend
the gate's rusted

repeat a tired fantasy tune
with all the time in the world,
just enough to waste
to search for answers or for self

bundle up
the alarm is set.

The inside me often disagrees
(sometimes violently)
with the outside me

See, they have very different perspectives
different standards
different - … ,  
well they're just different.

They've both had it difficult,
but in different, very distinct ways.

And that leads to differences in opinion and to opposition.
Opposing views, opposed decisions
that in the end they need to resolve
(however reluctantly),
to agree where they disagree.

Agree a way forward.

If you think the outside me would prevail,
you have been deceived and failed to conceive
just how much the inner man can conserve
energy until its needed to win the day

And so the outer me concedes,
(not defeat, but a passing loss),
because in the end they're in this together.
Inner or Outer.

A toss of the same coin.
One of us winning whichever side comes up,
whichever, whoever ends up on top.

Like I say, don't be fooled by the outward façade.
Take the longer view.
Look at the heart.

A monkey's wedding: our elders told us
it was, each time it rained with the sun out.
Pink skies, white clouds, golden tears and
the good times of being young.

Tree climbing to touch the sky as high,
fruit picking, and stone skipping at turbid puddles,
The smell of after rains, wet grounds, dew tear drops;
all at the nights condescending condensation.

Chasing rainbows on rumours of Peter pan's hidden
treasures at the end. As a guileless manner supposed.
Sunlight creeping through cracks of clouds,
the remainder of light showers, reminisced in the mud.

Sculptures we'd try our best to carve,
playing house outside, under the upcoming sun,
And trying our best at reciting parent's love.

Tell me have you seen anything as beautiful,
as the beauties after the rain?

8/28/2021

Look at all the green
And forget all the blue
You’re outside now
And it can’t touch you

I am most alive on a warm summer night at dusk
Walking through a field of tall grass
With a warm gentle breeze blowing
Stars just starting to fill the sky
The sound of the frogs and crickets in the air
No one know I’m there

Sometimes you just have to rattle
outside
like an over excited child
or pup with energy to spare

You’ll feel the breeze there
and smell leaf and soil
all seasons

Though the language changes
with the days
the message is consistent:
stay