To sew a shoe
A simple thing
To do
Or to stitch a sole
And nail a heel
For a Gentleman's
Stroll

A thimbled poke
A tug of string
A knot
A dozen brads
And a hope
A whisk of shine
For some Lad's
Trot...

Upon this bench
My tools of trade
I work
To ****** a soul
One shoe, by shoe
They all walk down
My road.

A Lady's boot
A slippered foot
Some lace
I'll fix them all
I have the time
They all pass by
My place.

What internal music played
As he drew his brush
Softly saturated
Across the Wait of White?

How did he slow the wind
And tease it
Lure it
Into the pale cerulean wash?

What power did he possess
To stop the Sun
To halt the spin
Of the world before him?

What fierce invisible nail did he use
To affix his Now
So long ago
To My Now?

There is quantum stillness
In the flow
In the ebb
Of this flat dimension.

There is distance unreachable
Behind his eye
Beneath his hand
Proffered to us.

There is a God-Wink presented
Intangible, firm
Solidly translucent
Within this window.

Who was this mortal Creator
With Birth-breath
Of colored magic
And patient soul?

This wall is a cathedral
To His cathedral

Through his honor
He honors us
With one note
Of his internal hymn.

I promised that I would wait for you.
Hurry up.
I'm hungry
And weak
And I was never good at "saving"

There are stairs
And sloped roads
And hills
And blind curves
And switch-backs
And dead-ends....
Sometimes.
Sometimes there are
Twinkies and hot chocolate.
And comfy chairs.
And Pop-Cycles.
And low-gravity days.
Sometimes "Sometimes" is
Worth it.

If you could count all the stars
Every one
You would still be shy
By a few
Even the far away ones
Of how many times
I think of you
Shining.

Bite me, Baby.
Take me down
Into your viral, hungry Limbo.
There we'll eat
The noisy neighbors
Wander through the streets
All night.
Naked but for
What cloth hangs on
To our slim decrepitude.
Bite me, Baby.
Hell don't want us.
Heaven's iffy
Anyway.
We won't need no shoes
Or money

There is no speed
There is only fast
Here in this Empty
Nothing passing by
To delineate movement
No stars
No dust
Bent-time left behind
Only dwindling Self
Only Not Yet
In a hurry

There is no time
There is only when
Here on this Maybe
Passing by Nothing
A calcified moment
One star
One wish
True Self swept aside
With the mingle
Not quite there
In a hurry

There is no point
There is only why
There on that hollow
No one reaching out
To slow this progression
No hand
No You
Just Past catching up
Laughing with Fast
No speed at all
In a hurry