Look, grand pa, that yoostbe a mega mall.


At the edge of paradise, just there, where those sunflowers,
and mustards are making little canyons for trickles
to form rills and eventually, streams to carry away
all that water can dissolve, though, if I
fret I can
wonder at where the asphalt pitch will be,
it being hydrophobic,
insoluble unless we get some more acid rain,
-- yeah, that might work
over time.
the tower in Babel was mortared with bitumen,
what did the destruction of that edifice of mud pollute?

Nevermind, all the empty malls shall make fine villages,
and where the parking lot was,
there will be a meadow of the sort seen where green
is given back
hope, wait… do you imagine
the earth can groan?
do green things hope? do they grow happy or are they
statelessly happening,
verily being  the hypostatic form of
homeostasis in
the pursuit of life for life's sake, slightly weighted toward
happy state expecting
good, so for common sense,
we use the colors common to life's attractors
green means go
red is stop…
straight edges, where nothing grows,
those say stop, look and listen
?
we all know the warning signs, or do we get those in lessons
along the way,
along the way of course, I knew,
I was testing you.

once the course is mapped though, then we must learn the way,
before we may go outside and play,

that was different when I was a child, then
I thought readily as a child, with no need of grand kids
to remind me,
this is 2020, but some things never change.

blinking like a blade
of grass before a lake-storm
soft but not asleep

It’s in the shading.
It’s the way the light is written.
It’s the way the observer takes it all in.
It’s the way it convinces one that the world will last.
It’s the way it plants a seed in the mind,
the way it touches one inside, lives inside
the streets of memory, inhabits one’s emotional house,
sunsets, harbors, all the great perfect things
that exists in the brief eternity that loop eternally,
that convinces one that the extraordinary
is the purpose of existing in ordinary time,
that every moment lives for the perfect still life.

When disappointment comes to call
I will be there, laid bare, find me there;
Open wounded and standing small,
Arms outstretched like a fool.
When just my fears are standing tall
I will be there, I would dare, leave me there,
To prove my worth was nothing much,
A slight of touch, fingers slipping,
Dreams were nothing, all I held
Were little more than grains of pain.
I will be there, still, always, just the same.

TS Lefort

I still care
I care so much it hurts.
I care so much that it rips me up inside because I know that you're not okay. Not sleeping. Not feeling. Not smiling anymore.
I care. And that's why it burns when there are no texts. Why my heart sinks when you feed me empty responses and half-truths.
I feel like a ship untethered in the heart of a storm. My sails stretch and tear. My mast bends and breaks. The ropes and knots unwind and come undone, whipping about, wrapping around my wrists, my ankles, my throat.
I care.
I still care.
I care enough to drown. I care enough to stand in your place in the heart of the fire. I care enough to scorch my hands if only it'd mean that I could hold you and tell you that you'll be alright.
I care too much. Even when you push me further and further away. Because the harder you push, the harder I push to stay.
I refuse to give up on you.
So keep pushing. Keep hiding. Keep running. Keep lying. Keep making me feel like ****. Keep telling me I'm worth nothing. Keep shutting me out. Keep me at arm's length. Keep breaking me. Keep your secrets. Keep away from me.
And see if I care.
See if I give a ****.
Because I do.