Ghost

Ghost

You,

The Ghost in my dream

Taking up space

In mental, liminal halls

Whispering,

Sharing, encouraging consideration.

You,

The Ghost and your closeness

Distracting the intention of your point

To point out similarities

While hovering by…

Intentional, close, subliminal.

You,

The Ghost in the room

Parked at my shoulder and warmly,

Associating existence with history

While sweeter notions lie

Felt, known, needed.

Ghost,

The vapor of You in a memory, brings

A deluge of melancholy

To seek among antiques

A token of time

Symbolic, sweet, serene.

Ghost,

The song of You need be sung

In a mind at rest, in a bed at best

To closely tune into the vibration of You.

A hum in the darkness

To the tune of two.

Savagery

Rumble of bullshit

Electrocuting nerves, 

This is,

A call,

To action. 

Approached by ill intent

The wave of bluffing does its best

To ensnare me. Fucking gall.

The hornets' nest within me

Is damn near at capacity

To cite and summon ferociousness

To back my best intentions. 

I am as ready as I will ever be

To take on the blasphemy I face. 

Tested again

For worth, for salt, 

For savagery. 

I crouch and store muscle

For all that lies ahead. 

Any Kind

Crawl, scoot, saunter by any means

Get there. Getting there. 

To get, to arrive, to be

In the presence of

Action. 

The work, the power, the gush of effort 

Tipping into the ideas 

That have skimmed and touched down

All too often, 

Without mark of any kind. 

The work, waits. 

The action adheres 

The evidence salutes the Master 

For the time spent, 

Unwinding. 

Creating, carving, caring

Allowing independence

To breathe life into inklings 

Of any kind. 

SPIT

 "Light me up again..."

Powered. Pressed. Heavy. 

Nocturnal contrast

Of night, and white sheets. 

Pushed, 

Internally, your words

Traveling throughout. 

Wreaking havoc between my

Tendons and skin

Looking to be pushed out

By way of You. 

Hoisted to a spit

And set to burn at a slow roast

For coveting the idea, 

Of You. 

Blood boiled,

Night boom 

Switched to perform

Solo.

Balmy day, no recompense 

From the unslept night.

The grind of restraint wears down layers

Chewing away epidermis.

These tools enacted 

Stand in defense of the unspoken spoil 

Drifting without deadlines

To an X on the map of Never Reached. 

Soot

I Am 

Hunting to improve

Methodology. 

Digging into philosophy

Studying what it is that I trade

For my time, 

And how I feel and assign

Meaning. 

Ghosted. 

Words tacked down yesterday

Blown. 

This, a known pattern. 

He. 

Touched down, and

For a moment, pumped me enough

To strangle inactivity

And wake sleeping lions from their

Comatose dens.

How many more years will pass

Until the imagined inhalation

Turns to empty soot?

At 60, the action, I imagine, reaches delirium. 

The brakes won't matter, 

There'll be nothing to pump. 

Delirium without recourse 

Is a maggot ridden steak

Rippled with the rotting promise

Of loss. 

Boise

Pen up

Dropped.

Pen held, 

 ...down. 

Words lost 

Months on months on end

Then You. 

Pen up, mind drawn. 

Layers, ripped 

Decay, chipped

You

Blasting me

Blaring me

Loading my barrel. 

You. 

Potency, regaled to all senses

A decade deep

Our Love, entrepreneurial 

Ever young, ever fervent, ever engaged

It is the absence of our skins 

That stay put the sins

Preserving the mint

Of when first, We were 'coined'.

Suffice

 We renovate what we can

If we're able. Often, it's the case, that we learn

Later, what we've done to who we are

And then a sturdy reprimand is in order.

I've sifted through boxes of stored history

Seeking ways to thin inventory

Finding old pieces of paper that tell sad tales 

That sound so similar

To my

Today. 

I want to burn those words... and

Eradicate the proof

That in ten years time

The caged heart has remained

Brutally, the same. 

It's time for growth

Outward. Inward. All around. 

To suffuse my needs into the effort needed

That will yield something warmer

Than my own two hands.