This title is for no one
No it's not meant to be about you
It could be for everyone
But that would never do

I'm wide awake as the witches are
Just a mere minute now past two
I'm always awake it seems
I've nothing better to do

I saw an overweight puff ball cat ,
a tabby orange and white
It was eyeballing me
up and down out by the glow of the light

I haven't seen the moon now in so many months of May
The trees are so thick around me it's hard to even see the day

There are no gorillaz near me
But there are orangutans driving their cars
They like to pull out in front of you
They look like they spent the night in a bar

The days are getting shorter
But it feels like summer time
I know that winter is coming
I saw them stringing up Christmas signs

Why do they call it Black Friday ?
I would think white would surely do
I'd say Tim Burton was responsible but if I did I'm afraid that he just might sue

I always want a drink by starlight
But the Liquor stores are closed
During the daytime I emphaticly refuse to buy
A split personality I suppose

Well the sun should be up by now
It's a quarter after ten
Yawn oh Yawn !
It's time to turn it in

They wilt with us you know
the flowers, in winter, in the snow

and we know that flowers come back
but I'm not sure I do

All colorful and fun and smelling sweet
that life, so free, nothing can beat

but I quite enjoy melting in their light
my personal cacophony

One more to add to the collection
Piled up in stacks
of memories ,
good, bad, indifferent.
They loom large like a hoarders playground..
Teetering on the edge of remembrance,
Akin to a child arcing  on the up curve of a swing in motion all joy and suspense...

The oldest of days
So compressed and worn they have become mere scraps
Postcards withe messages written
In ink  faded, jaded
Like ether riding a zephyr  they pass through your mind to tiny whirlwinds from days left behind.

This day different from any other, as are they al, closes now awaiting it's
place upon a pile
All so tall now
It was a gooday another one of love, laughter  action and rest, commonplace by many standards..

But we have  learnt
to take each day and polish it like gem.

And accept it as a blessing ..

Before resting
in order to walk
into yet another day

Will the sidewalks
of delimination
give up the steps
short of
the shoehorned dreams

Those deposed days
under autumn's oath
with prejury and prejudice

Not one of
if I am willing
but
one of Cain enAbeling
the complicated

The judge agreed
it was a first ,
in the first degree

I looked at mom
suspiciously
every time she
said
"eat your vegetables !"

Snow falling
a sleeping baby  
flowers in bloom,
the crystallized night sky.

Hospital waiting rooms,
closed doors,
funerals,  
The bus, sometimes.

Empty sidewalks,
Fond eyes,
Motel balconies,
Most smiles.

4 a.m.
A deep breath  
Food pantry line,
Living alone.

The still, soft morning
A sun ray illuminates
The joy of being.

"There are two types of people in the world," he laughed after a heavy swig. I laughed and anticipated a mindless reply.
"Those who are pens, and those who are pencils".
An eye-roll dismissed the statement but a curious brow stayed in place.
"All I'm saying is that some folks have a certainty about them. Everything glides off their tongue like cursive dipped in black ink".
I thought of where I might fall on the spectrum.

My therapist recently asked me "have you ever tried mindfulness?"
I laughed a bit, remembering of the week-long mindfulness camp (sugarcoated for in-patient psychiatric care) I attended for troubled teens. I went to this twice.
This peaceful brain training was designed to give us a retreat when the world is too loud. During group therapy, most teens shared their experiences with domestic violence, yelling, S.A., running away, abuse. Endless. We were all numb, but there was so much comfort in being locked away with others who needed the respite as much as I did.
We would eat skittles and describe their flavor and textures. We would focus on our breaths. Make beaded art. Tell collaborative stories. Follow guided meditations laying on unfamiliar gym floors, giggling a bit as we "soared through clouds".
I jumped back into the talk session, remembering my dedication to mindfulness years ago. My anxiety followed me into adulthood. I think mindfulness can be out of reach, stupid.
And yet, I looked out of her dusty, sun filled window decorated with three vases of dry arrangements. My mind started to posture into how warm and antique this image felt. I felt hot, quiet tears building up from feeling that peace again.