You know where you're going.
So when it comes,
Acknowledge and appreciate
The day that I come home late at night
for the 113th night in a row
and there are bumps and bruises kissing my bones,
there are dirt and grass stains painting my knees and clothes,
there are patches on the gear, on the pants, on the skin
from rips of rad that stroke my discomfort and
grant me a fight to win against fear.
and there are eye wrinkles forming around
bags of forgotten sleep and sexytimes
that make me feel worthy of nothing more,
yet everything more still comes.
And I clamor in the doorway hand in hand
riding giggles with an innate and undying flirtatious hilarity
into a house that radiates warm simplistic comfort
but has no locks
so I may come and go
to and fro
from everyday new adventures and
new states and new sights and new lives
but always back to the dog-fur lined rug
that tickles my circletoes as I ****** a tasty beer
to wash away the dust that coats my guzzling esophagus
filling my belly with the mountain’s leftovers
and satisfying my hunger for another day
but not until the sun rises and it is morning and I must be alive
to smooch the lips of the most important creatures
puppies, kittens, boys with fingertoes,
whose love is constant as
the beating of my wild and beefy heart
and the breathing of my battered and blessed breath
with the silence and rest within it
,between each passionate burst,
as understood yet persevering as
any will we have to live our lives beyond the mundane.
They are Nature’s gifts that make me owe her
something greater that gratitude,
so I go out at morning light each day and play with the winds
and babysit the plants and learn from the birds
who send me off with homework about listening
and about singing songs out of selfless selfishness
not for other people
but with the intent to make people listen and
make it change them for better
whether they want it to or not.
and sometimes the lessons are tough,
harder than rocks that teach them.
Sometimes the work goes untouched on my desktop
and I get lost in Milky Way patterns
made by the Sun’s best friends on a drunk getaway
but then I find my way back by a road of traced constellations
on the moley chest of the ultimate mountain man,
who flips back open my books and
points to nirvana among the pages of life’s endless studies,
emphasizing and underlining key points with
pens of self-awareness and highlighters of supportive independence.
Then bookmarks important parts with reminders of the first time
he licked his lips to savor the sweet taste of a tough cookie
he had tasted only once months before.
A recipe that had been fine tuned away in a hell he left behind
for new homes to be found.
A place he confronted again
to lead a lost soul out and into the world of living and loving.
And loving is what is done
when bears romp beside our sleeping heads and puke garbage belly
but make less of a mess than I do when giddied by that silverlining
that was merely a stormy cloud to those who predicted rain,
And I will not seek to tempt fate nor die unsure of it
but I was jigging in the right place at the right time and
the river of his rain has flooded me with forward momentum,
I will rescue those who cannot stand stronger than the current,
my quads are toned for they've fought the waves until I stood.
And after a hard day of nothing less than that and more,
Zzzztown will welcome me with
joyful snoozing, lekker slaaping, and the tightest dreaming.
And I will wave 'See You Soon' to B-town not alone, finally together
with batted eyelashes and heavy eyelids and sore bodies.
