Searching for Galileo,
    the race to be first home,

In a sea of patients
    we climb the probability tree,
    walk upon the shore collecting
      memory shells,

We win the little wars,
     lose the big fight,

These windows are breathing apparatus,
     this ceiling, a blur of tungsten sky,
     rain, tears, weep,

To rest near to you,
     the technicolor sleep,
     and I died with you,

All farewells are sudden.

lonely streets of sidewalks

and crossing the cracks
your heart beats for a heart

that beats no longer for you.
  
double crossed
and the cold fire is calling,
the cold fire burning,
a flame frozen in thought

and a wilderness of shadow

and the wild dog howling
into the wind,
the night howling like a dog
from within your heart.

the white flower pedals slowly falling
like snowflakes

and the gulls striking the top of the sky
and the vastness, stars adorned,

the white flower pedals falling
like snowflakes.

those flower pedals,
and the night blows Claire a goodbye kiss.

Mondays seem to always be overcast
With late mornings, and spilled coffee
I come home to Sunday’s chores and a warm bath.
Soaking my sore muscle strains
The bubble bath looks more like thunderstorm
Soap clouds swirling
And drain mimicking the sounds of rain
To lay here for hours? Or go to sleep
Wishing I could slowly drift away
Water caressing my body, like silk sheets
It’s getting late
Finally I am at peace

~
I.
Killing Mary Poppins
with a spoonful of sugar,
the sugar from the medicine
on the other side of town,
the town called Silent Hedges
And A Bit Of Fluff.

II.
Only a display model,
her name is Marmalade;
skin white like the moon,
she wears her ****** stranger dress;
one of her sisters is dying,
the other never lived;
God is a far off concept,
the fuchsia colored ball on
an overhead power grid
points her way to salvation.

III.
Morning became something else:
bright decline,
cold things start to burn,
tragic saxophone
among the beckoning,
everything's a symptom:
tax exiles, imperialists,
girls talking nitrous
--mouths full of soil,
Virginia Reel around the fountain
(do-si-do),
ready to buy up impossibles
as the dominoes fall.

IV.
Memory is a chemical
to the girl who cried champagne,
like ceiling stars
during the prodigal summer,
she played the game
on all fours,
and found a drawer
full of quarantine polaroids,
some with blood in her mouth,
others, of rain on her birthday.
~

We've all become distracted by ourselves
Worried about how many Followers we have
Sixty second Gods of our own making
An electronic Bible in our hands

Comments then become passages of Truth
Faith being written by everyone else
Talking to no one alone in our homes
Influencing ourselves to Death

Why do I dare to sing
this melody, overused and
claimed by millions of
others, with voices nearly
interchangeable but barely off,
imperceptibly so, just a dash
too much of cinnamon, not that
you’d ever know, but still
I steal these hand-me-down
words, chasing the horizon only
to retreat back to the
well-worn reef?