It isn't music, really
not really
not the kind that you can
dance to
or sing words to
or hum along to

but maybe tap your foot
a bit to
or rock your shoulders
a little bit to
and sway your head
a little nod or two

It's more like rustling leaves
from pianissimo
to crescendo
above the tapping
drips of rain
in puddles circling
round the dangling feet
of waterspouts

and the trilling ring
a brassy bell delivers
swinging from the strike
of an opened door  
as dampened shoes
skip shuffle and slide
inside the musty lair
of an old bookstore

all measured by
the syncopated
clapping beat
of hooves
on cobblestone
in time with
carriage wheels
and drumbeat hoods
of rocking cabriolets

He paints from sound
that whistles in the wind
and freefalls from the sky
that bounces in the streets
and whispers to his eyes
that nestles in his pallet
and mixes in his dyes

It isn't music, really
not really
not the kind that you can
dance to
or sing words to
or hum along to

but maybe tap your foot
a bit to
or rock your shoulders
a little bit to
and sway your head
a little nod or two

when you see his aria
composed by strokes
from brushes
dipped in sound

I used to fantasize about the existence of a never ending hole

Huge and full of nothing but darkness, wind and freedom big enough to jumo into and fall forever

For so long I forgot that anything can touch me

So long as I forget that anythig exist outside of the air licking me

And If i felt lost I fantisized company

Someone to do backflips with and laugh

Silent cause the air grabbed the sound and held it

If I didnt I was happy

I was a child and it was all I dreamt about

endless wind and air and dark and abandon

I am no longer a child

I wish freefalls would consume my dreams

Just one more week.

As a periwinkle twilight descends upon the neighborhood, the eyes of the homes near me lift their sleepy lids.

The metal below my body cools and comforts as the fingers in my peripheral tenderly stroke brown flaky shards from its surface.


In the distance, the highway coos it's nightly song and the crickets respond

rapturously, a motorcycle flies by.


Im too high
  up for the bugs to find me.

I savor the street’s gentle curve
and think how the light grey pavement might be soft and soothing after all.

A bat freefalls, snags a current of air on my left

I hope that this fire escape doesn't fall

~~

8-14-17

Once I soared with eagles
     my guardian angel by my side.
Walking tall with confidence
     caused my foes to run and hide.

I chose my battles carefully;
     I picked the place and time.
If any son dared cross me
     I knew his *** was mine.

I remember ocassional setbacks;
     times when the going got rough,
     but the things that should
     only helped to make me tough.

I guess I thought there was a God.
I prayed once in a while,
     but I knew I didn't need his help
     to go an extra mile.

I rebelled against authority;
     took all the freedom I could get.
I could not allow myself to lose a fight;
     my *** ain't been kicked yet.

Needing victory in every duel
     became my prison cell.
As I leaned hard against the wind
     my soul set sail for Hell.

I didn't know it left me;
     I didn't see it stray
Fighting one last battle,
     it would just get in my way.

This battle was the hardest;
     it took five years to win.
Revenge and anger were my weopens;
     I wore them like a grin.

When the fight was nearly over
     and victory was near,
I prayed to God," return my soul"
     but He didn't seem to hear.

I'd look for without Him;
     this heart that I had lost.
I'd win it back all by myself
     no matter what the cost.

Now standing on the pinnicle,
     I fearfully looked around.
My soul would not have come up here;
     it's too far from hallowed ground.

Starting back down along the path;
     frought with struggle and with strife,
     I found I was decending through the
     wreckage of my life.

While pawing through the ashes
     of the bridges I had burned,
     I found the charred remains
     of all the lessons I had learned.

Confused and battle weary;
     I could not tell wrong from right,
     but I prayed that at the freefalls end
     there might be truth and light.

Now I'm lying in the smoke and fire
     at the crash site of my soul
     peering out through Godless eyes
     as a snake peers from his hole.

I should have had some warning;
     a shot across my bow
     but my spirit spiraled down and down
     and look where I am now.

Like a marble in a funnel,
     my soul spun 'round and down.
With a lack of positive energy
     it finnaly hit the ground.

Now I'm at the bottom
     With no way to go but up.
God, please give me the strength to feed
     my soul;
     your sacred wine to fill my cup.


This was the first poem I was ever able to
right. At age 56 it came to me in a dream and I got up and wrote it down.

falling is feeling alive again on open roads and dusty lungs filled with old bones my closet feels so full of skeletons I got an adrenaline rush from killing a spider today royal flush full house of cobwebs and dead flies and wishing you and I were whole again
the smell of nail polish is ingrained in everything in my bedsheets bottles bleed black and red and gold and glitter
glitter always sticks to hardwood floors and skin I’m sick of things sticking to my skin I am not a spider web stop sticking to my skin
dusty decay painting my nails the color of old scrapbooks I take photos because I need memories to exist outside of me I can’t remember anything except how it feels to dry-swallow pain pills I’ve forgotten to brush my teeth for the 3rd day in a row old habits die when
count fireflies caught in your claws and claw the mouths from any man who catcalls or calls harassment a compliment fight fire with freefalls oxygen masks and steamboats I want to die on the peak of Mount Everest maybe then I can finally rest my hand hurts from my grip on the pen I stopped paying attention again
my hands won’t stop bleeding my cuticles are ripped again I want it to stop again I want my hands clean again I want to take care of myself again I want to be whole again I want to cover myself in nail polish and then fly
fall down the Grand Canyon

Tonight my I will pretend that my soul is not asleep on a beach in Zanzibar tonight.

As fiercely as I try to be present
I always seem to find my mind absent
but I never fail to find it
directly beside you.

Across the world,
I feel the red string tied around my pinky finger
pulsing with our unified heartbeat
gently trying to guide me back to you.

It is with a sort of despair that my tired body collapses once again into an empty bed
I hold the pillows I've surrounded myself with just a little bit tighter
knowing that across the world, when you fell asleep your last thoughts were of me

You are burned into my skin
With every brush on the shoulder from another
My mind freefalls into the comfort I know your comfort to be.
Always,
moments flow back into my mind of the warmth of your arms
your finger trailing down my spine
your hands wrapping my body around yours.

On our last day together,
you thought I was still asleep,
you wrapped one arm gently around me,
cradling me into your chest,
I could hear your heartbeat,
strong and steady,
and your other fingers traced the lines and curves of my body,
whispering sweet nothings into my hair,
finding peace with your body next to mine.
When I finally opened my eyes,
I woke in the way that leaves a glow in my chest for the rest of the day.
Your sweet smile bringing me back to earth,
your gentle 'good morning my love' bringing my smile to my sleepy eyes.

Flâneurs abound
The tragedy
of low expectations
Was described
To me
As the most uptight surfer
you ever met
Greeting me
like age hurdles
She was a black hole
of logic
and responsibility
My life
with no mirrors...
Exes
had limited vision
Too stubborn
and prideful
to admit
their freefalls
of poor judgement
My freefall
*** sum me da
Heretics
and Town Cryers
in the market square
Mephisto's embrace
of Lidocaine and Cortisone
I can no longer
skydance to impress
A scoundrel, my ***** culprit
remains reality-resistant
Like *****
on the Polar Bear rug
Incoherent verses of
"Dog and Cat
God and Oil
Signet and Spice
Partners and Paramours"
The incidental joy of life
Randomly convenient distance
from our Sun
Burning her kelvin heat
to charm our World
Venerated
Dreaming in fireworks
I write her in great detail,
She answers me
with tempered dictation…
Sun distance Earth
Enough
to burst
with anemones
as blue as Barbercide
This distance
Struggling
like a butterfly
in a rainstorm

February 1, 2022