The New Order

Increments of time mean little
But what of the 'moment to moment'?
We live and breathe by the moments
The momentary bliss, heat, and horror
These are what erodes life.

"Act. Don't React" -they say...

Who the fuck art "they"?
As "easier said than done" slides in sideways.
What of those days,
When the box spoke freely- of its lust.

"Deliquescing frigidity as the body's Viceroy".

Do our 'Rights' mature as we age?
As limbs demand more while gravity pushes
Taking measure for measure,
What we require to sustain.

Time is an island- where no man can roam

We, instead, look over shoulder,
Rear-view, and recompense
All the pushed away luxuries that we ...swear...
We will keep.

Someday.

Someday, when the night was young,
And gray hair was but a smirk.
Someday came, bringing longer nights
And singular body heat.

What rights do we now enlist for...

To bring back the giggle of a 3am 'fix'.
Rolling into hips of another
Taken into side-streets past midnight hours-
Leaping into that 2:32am down,
That, with eyes closed - even
We knew the cost of, the
'Tomorrow midday yawn"

"When Life and the Night were Young..."

I had only notions of a structured future
I had promised myself that my 'Someday'-would release me.
Release me into a sea of security
Of which my today has been building.

Find time for the 'someday' to be Now.

Today, let the 'someday' sneak in,
Let it allow you to snicker and sigh
To Taste, Moan, Tickle, and Love
All that the palms may press against.

Too long in the planning, the risk has errors.
Why trouble the potential of what we endeavor,
With unpredictable pause?
Coagulate. Stifle. Stilled. Stoned.

Stripped of past honors that we never gave.

See fit to engage the new 'moment',
Into a warm pocket lined with love.
Love without the loss that fear brings.
Love what may or may not come.

Love what we may not expect,
But find in our line-of-sight, on-a-dime.
Love.

There is no failure in the 'lightly we go' mentality.

I fear not at this juncture, the warm palm of possibility
As it trumps in infinite perfection,
The loss of what stays lost.
Time to put an end to the 'losing'.

Cognition- daily, if need be
In the event that we continue sucking old habits
As the new order of 'chance' dies out.

...at our feet.

Smooth sheets and polite whispering
The low rumble of kindness and care,
Tumbling into my ears.
Rustic sunsets bring justice to this ache
The day burns quickly to arrive here, now, into this night.

"Move closer..." the scent suggests
As heart rates scramble to remain calm
In this time of long-gestating release
Climbing into the warm skin of another
Has never felt so fine.

In theory, in dreams, in thought
The elbow slides outward, erasing this drought
Knees chime with hips, as the edge of heavy breathing
...dumps into the abyss of the  hysteria and havoc found,
...in "love lost in thighs".

The tongue sweats in salivary awareness
That Eden is at our feet.

Inconsequential- the day of the week,
The minute... the hour.
The clay in our hands- hardening
This kiln we create between us- Roaring.
Roasting us- from the inside, out.

This is an art,
To dance upon the Opus
That lay at our feet when all conditions align.
To articulate without analyzing
To love in the shade of harmonious ease
Where vulnerability fears nothing, and
Strength grows with every moment
Of genuine, traded care.

This lifetime is good.
To bestow such transcendent lore of the heart
To anyone-
Let alone, once... twice...
What are the chances that such euphoric interplay be found again?

They're good- I tell you
They're more than good.

If the gate of 'well-intentions' swings lightly
In optimism's favor,
That song can somehow find itself
Choreographing new chapters-
Rich with all the right reasons,
To motivate good love.

Designer

I am here, weathering through
The makeshift Monday of Tuesday
Bluesy- strong- consistent.

Here, in this now-
My mind wanders again to cartography.
The eloquence in elegant map-making
More rosey-hued intention is born.
Do I have what it takes
To act out on the diligent map-maker in me?

Consistency is a trap door
Floating always by my side
I am aware of its continual willingness
And equally aware of my own hesitancy.

Blinder...

When to wander back to that keyboard?
Back to that maroon/gray slate
A place to lay words in offering
To glean cleanliness and hope without strings?

Hope- a word, a feeling, a notion
A wish to be granted when belief is strong.

An outlook, a measure, a dedicated service
A place to call home when the heart is at rest.
Hope. A dream. A whisper
A cloud without intention...
Or is that hope at all?

Does hope plot its course when times are tight?
When days are tough and skin tears in secret places,
Tears as we attempt to cope with loss.
What is loss? A reality? A rhythm?
A tortured possession?

Maybe, just maybe- a filter is preferred
A filter to safeguard against loss when the strings are snipped.
And the disorientation of panic evolves.
Anxiousness rivals hope and oh-
What a powerful fucking opponent it is.

Anxiety wears razor-clad gloves
Slicing away at mere mention of its name.
Red, grown more red, to stain the fists with a brightness-
So bright and dedicated to the relentless ability
...of robbing without rights.

Who bore such a tool into this world-
So grand and mighty in its reign?
Doubt. Envy. Cynicism,
All gathering to cruelly rip and rape apart,
The heart's simple contentedness.

That simple contentedness is at risk
When the racing heart is on the prowl.

Fuck that sensitivity that gives into
The Beast of Poisoned thoughts.
That cold-cocking brute that takes with teeth.
Leaving gums, jaw and eyes
Bruised and blurry.

There is an earthquake in my chest
Ripping at veins and fucking all my retrofit.
Beating the fuck out of my resilience,
Care, empathy and calm.

There is gunpowder in my head,
Lying about for the next fuse-

To. Blow. My. Peace. To. Shit.

I. NEED. A. REMEDY.

I must wax and wane this havoc
This chaos- burning at the ready.
There is much we are accustomed to-
Much we are abused by, and much we can do
To play accomplice to our weakness.

Today, I say, "Fuck this weakness"
Travel ahead to cleaner waters and
Enlist the stout muscle that has held this planet of 'Me'
Together, for 43 strong years.

Kick the doubt. Kick the envy.
Cut off the venom-spewing snake that chokes me.
Fuck this weakness. This incessant decay and rot.
Fuck it off and move forward.
Into the night of potential, hope and light.

June's End

Walking with weight- more than needed
Dump the bane that tries to trap me
Broken, behind me, minimized in the distance
Untangling these strands- meticulous
Devotion is the new habit.
Devoted to a pilgrimmage of positivity.
Hunting for sunshine and cool, beautiful breezes
To exfoliate the drudge of what need not apply.

*all I have learned.

I have propagated so much beuaty in my children.
How lucky am I to leave behind a legacy of four human souls.
How much farther will the branches of our DNA travel into the life yet lived.
Posterity is an awesome contemplation.
Blowing wind into the lungs of our offspring has ensured laughter for years to come.

Long live the lives we create, and the flow of emotional diversity.

Effort

Own this time
In a more productive manner
Lose what is worthy of letting go of.
Hold the hand of kindness.
Hold my hand in kindness.

What can talking to paper do?
Telling words to form to issue requests...
...statements...
Essences...

I know there is therapy
Lying between each line.
Experience has taught me that well.
Profound. Strong. Pure.
Elevated consciousness...

Through speaking to ink and asking for assistance-
A tool to hold in hand-
Whispering as the wrist whistles...

It helps. It has.
It always will.
It's my choice- to obey
To go back to these needs that suffer
Yes.
I will.

Architect.

Alleyways and rivers, they are often the same.
Dark, protruding, even invisible.
Winding through each pathway is what we do
To find ourselves capable of mapping where we are..
Where we go.. where we belong.

The limbo is as real a think-tank as the steps we take to enter any door.
Mulling, musing, chewing through details,
By default, our time is waxed on meaningless detail.
There is no particular rationale for why this is the way that it is-
It just simply IS.

For every one breath spent of the gilt of good living,
I have torn new teeth into ten-thousand hours of mindless consultation.
Sinking into the mire of expectation-filled contemplation.
Why can I not live and let live......
Or perhaps, I do and deny that I do, to feel more 'normal' with the way I have become.

And I have become calculated, determined, cross-referencing each motive
In an effort to cause beneficial chain reactions
That spill less milk than honey, into this world of unpredictable precedence.
But then again, they do say.......

We hunt our diamonds in the rough.

Until then, I hunt on.