Why Newton would tell you not to wear a seat belt

Going two miles-per-hour you’ll hurt yourself casually,
But if you add a zero to that you will be hurt incredibly.
Fine day we’re having, sure but the roads do look nasty.
No i’m sure it’ll be fine. But little did they know
their brains are soon to look like,
Well, dead brains.

Speeding two-zero-miles-per-hour,
Then in a flash, hearing scorn from Simon Cowl.
They’re in hell now,
Feeling very dead now.
This poem is deteriorating.
But it still rhymes.
So entertaining.

I’d like to be away
In a world far away
But that won’t escape
The world inside my brain

I’d like to stop the time
Live frozen between the lines
But that won’t bring me closer
To a picture perfect moment
That you and I never had

I want to live on your wavelength
Travel with you
At the speed of light
Penetrating
Any barrier
And travel parallel
To your sweet and endless path

I want to tell you that I love you
Have the courage
To make you mine
Too bad I lost the fight
That was going
Inside my mind

I’m endlessly falling
For someone like you
But I’ll gladly fall forever
If the destination leads to you

I think of you every night
And wonder where you are
Do think of me the same way?
Do you have the same thoughts?

I’m sure one day I’ll meet you
The moment won’t be perfect
But perfection is overrated
I’d rather meet you
In any way
As long as it leads me
To your mellow heart

My sweet nebula
Travel to me
As fast as you can
I’d do the same thing
If I wasn’t stuck behind
But I’m moving on
You’re my motivation
Even if met you I have not

Our song comes on as you hit the gas
75 on the freeway
You're going too fast
But today you don't care
You shout the lyrics
And play with my wind tangled hair

Do not speed your life
Do not skip moments

They are rushing furiously across a danger path.
Trying to escape all foes in stark contrast.
Light brightly shining their path.
Escaping giant demons of wrath.

The day of reckoning is over soon.
Precious are the lives of a chosen few.
Above and beyond the swarm cries too.
Just the fleetest will do.

As they were born above the ground.
Crawling toward an evil and also hopeful sound.
Across the ground these demons pound.
The fault of some they found.

Driving their fleeting heart even more.
Kindly they beg the evil and demons who ignore.
High in the clouds the evil soar.
While the hopeful eyes of many are ready to look toward.

As the demons pass.
Steep trouble will find the many at last.
High above the evil gathers it’s strength fast.
Diving from the sky with speed blast.

Some are plucked from the ground by the evil.
It is feast or famine not to cause an upheaval.
Soon few of the many will be safe in their home that is primeval.
What these fleeting few have been through is unbelievable.

we danced in the streets as the days were long
only recess and reckoning while water crept in
this city of dead, our place, where the stench lives
and bodies float, lying above the crypt's graves  

hurricane red absinthe & hand grenades
slugging the gulf like a shooter's brigade
a forecast shifts, flooding any escape
so we fire our motors with boats on em.

“leave at your own chosen speed”

always,
Dylan inserts a phrase that haunts,
indestructible permafrost,
played in slow and ever slower reverb all life long,
for it’s intuitive and you recognize it too well
as the best companion to the sour ending of another love affair

(but! this one differs; called love yourself)

the sad of a dying love, remembering the steady drift away,
capped by a casual remark that doesn’t sting but
cuts a Y on your chest, a lover’s coroner courtesy,
the bad humours permitted to at long last healthy escape

you’re staggered but say nothing for
speed
is a changeable elf, a mischievous devil,
requiring constant monitoring cause you moving,
but the speed limit alway a reflection of the road you’re on

speed is a tag along to show the overall fit still works,
though now far from the obvious and familiar
and the inspiration modifies,
so you retrofit untill the parts are incapable of
bending to new demands, contours unfamiliar, old plans no good

“leave at your own chosen speed”

for I am leaving you as I leave myself,
beaches erode,  lighthouses corrode, the salt cannot be refused,
the earth demands your return as the lease is deemed
non-renewable and the space where the date shall be inserted,
is parcel of the contract and though blank, certain to be fulfilled

the body erodes, the ***** parts corrode,
and this season of the new year^ comes with the usual disclaimer
recited on the tenth day from today

‘who will live, who will die,’^^

taught to you as a young-in, a child who can comprehend
even before manhood arrives, comprehend that life ends,
all good things and it ain’t no use, born compromised, but
“don’t think twice, it’s alright”

the slate you have written overdue for a prudent clean wet erasure,
so you begin to leave at your own chosen speed,
which is kind of nice, even cool, organizing your papers,
write with contented softness that so long eluded,
now come easy heady peasy

after a life of reciting poetry, good bad and always too long,
the pressure is on and off, side by side, even a dimming bulb
sheds some light, revealing what yet needs revealing

that Day of Atonement annual visitor,^^^ he/she of impish humors,
makes Pandora play a new station,
‘dimming of the day,’
reminder that it gave you a piece of an unowned heart to hold,
leased temporarily but the temp is roaring,
who, boo hoo, for you?

life and love is all about leaving,
the pen in penitent gone dry, no refills in this new world,
wish that **** rooster would stop crowing at
the break of sundown,^^^^  when I'll be gone
I'll be travelling on, for when the new day begins,
that’s my own signature personal gravestone marker,
the sundown poet
------------------------------------------------------------­-------



~the first day of the new year on the Jewish calendar
  Mon, 10 September 2018 =  1st of Tishrei, 5779

  Rosh Hashana 5779