Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Time of Day...

The analysis of happiness.
What is happiness? Can it be contained?
Tamed? Controlled? Triggered?
Can sunshine sway temperance?
Warmth of the sun, feeding feeling
Feeding skin that vitamin, browning lightly
Soothed, sleepy, sonnets of siesta take root.
Solar food.

Is happiness found in 'knowing'?
In understanding of what we yearn to understand?
Are these tendrils branching from the root of contentedness?
How does contentment relate to happiness?
These philosophies are ballooning, lifting
Answering naught. Coins chinking together
In a purse with holes, leading to a pocket, well-worn.

Memory too, frequents this place
Twinkling in the darkness of eloquent potential.
What memories pair well with which days?
When hands jumble the worth of what has been clutched,
How does happiness then, find its way into the equation?
A full pocket with strongly sewn holes?
Warm and discerning when optimism parks its countenance?
Who is to say?

This night has been distilled by the slumping of a ten-hour shift
Shoulders long for over-stuffed cushions, and a low-lit room.
I no longer bring myself to mention companionship.
It's unrealistic. Incomprehensible. Unreal.
How can happiness find a home here, on this night
Where the dull moan of a long day deflates from cubicle life.
Perhaps morning is a wiser choice when energies first rise
And smile with the sun.

Monday, December 26, 2016


Collected words
Bound in paper, bound in head
Bound in heart.
...standing still, glued...rustling
Wanting purpose, owning themselves
Owing nothing but volume
To points long gone.

"I remember my first love..."
But not fondly, in the way he sings

I remember buckets of time
Filled with dirty water
Distilled in the vacuum of hours gone.
Rusted over, til tilted
Rummaging over dusted pus
Pointing fingers at the death
That time snapped the neck of.

I dance slowly in these lullaby's
In the invisible in between twitches
That tiptoe always for a chance to be spun.
There is no festering sliver
No festooned regret brandishing red flags
There is kindness, understanding, forgiveness.
The cadence here, though melancholy
Is loved, loved, loved...

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

300 Count

I am thinking long on feeling
And the feel of philosophies
Between 300 count thread.
Melodies elongate in that slow stretch
Strong, steep, brewed to blow.

Solitude swindles nothing
From the opened eyes of passersby
On occasions, rare, the drift brings interest
Stoking fires that burn low, long, steady;
The smoulder of one, widening.

Who is it that goes there,
Traipsing the distance, gingerly?
With the unrequited wish for answers
But, less answers, less advice: instead,
A knock on the door of 'You'

Come, sit a while, away from the awkwardness
Let us motivate the hours to mean something
Dialectical foreplay is rare these days
Introduce the atelier of the hidden
And freely speak of why the skin sighs

That prologue of what we are up to
Stews thick and potent flavors
You can smell the movement of all I rub in
As I imagine that middle finger of yours-
Buried deep in the heart of the Winter.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016


Backtracked into the written
Seeking hints of the unfinished
...the unsaid.

Nothing wilted yet, as six drops into the last
I find the frequent gust of freshness

Sterile as I allow, tingling too
Protecting innovation in habitual form
...growing green.

This cave turned to confessional
Is now lonesome,
Seeking heat and more words with which To Live By.

The dust of ground axes
Now trampled under foot.

Sunday, December 4, 2016


Layered in the way I design
Kind in the way I choose
Caring in the methods I know best.
Opened, Guarded, Inventive, Aware.

Sunshine soaks to skins
Leaves, drinking in
Spoils to none left needing
Vermilion,  Jade, Cerulean, Lamp.

Axis spun to Recognize;
To Realize; To Rationalize; To Rectify
Released, flown up and towards
A heaven without limit.

Motion, Motion, Motion, Motion
Gliding into these Rhythmic times
Rewarding, becoming- Religious.
Promoted, Practiced, Harmonized, Habitual.

I sway forward, wrapping hands in the 'Yes' word
I am open for business, and carving clean
The carcass of the lost, among the greying tones inside:
The Opalescent Dreaming- Revealed.


Friday, December 2, 2016


When last we stood tall together
Well rounded and spoken for
That black patent leather was shiny and new
Scuff-less, sock-less, sexy.
I know the type, where the shape ends
And lingers... Thicker when undressed.
Prominence is providence
It takes a heavy hammer
To plow down the nail.

Full set, surrounding sweet whites
Bearded for the cause
The cause of the chasm, to get
Lick- Lick- Lickety split.
"Higher Love..." ...wait for it
Beacon of beauty, spelling truths in liquid
Poured into drums- effectively
Sent in to round out and ricochet
All I am feeling.

I am the sinkhole for your charms
To repeat every word indubitably
You are forming circles inside
Connecting infinite seeking
With swift action.
From what world do you hail
With your silver-lined throat?
I seek now to find more action
Sinking self into sweaty segways

Until we see each other next
And I listen to the feel of your pulse
I crush the need to act with action
Pushing out from languid repose.
Sweeping wide, swigging more lore
From your effervescence
And foreign glory.
Come again soon, that I may find twice
The need for you- in me.