Each day life is passing me by
With the flutter of a wing
The intensity of fire
And the brashness of an old mans tongue
There is a wrinkle above my lip
A balding to my sides
And a vision focusing through murky waters
Life has left me behind
Taking with it my inspirations
A handful of daydreams
Leaving me with babies
A changing terrain for a body
And a heart that looks to the now
Never the future
As incandescent as it once seemed
As trodden as a war filled village
It has become.
What of dreams if they arent thought up?
What of Jacks Beanstalk if the beans were never grown?
To walk with reason
And not of purpose
To speak in turn
And not on purpose
This flutter of a wing
Mute, vibrant transparency
Has been caressed
Not to live again
But to lie in ash, as a handful of daydreams
I wanted to cry alone
But you were home.
I must have wasted
A billion gallons of water.
To Misty Copeland:
“I am instantly attracted
To her spirit…”
Inner nature of a person
Bodiless but visible
Concept beyond physical.
“Nobody wakes-up like this.”
Be an exceptional case
Blemish-free your spirit
Live beyond the face.
Neither tidied the pieces/ Of last nights secrets/ Slammed against floor boards/ Taking root where they sat/ Gleaming its spoiled fruit/ Audacious, bold and truth/ We watched its growth/ A canopy shadowing us both/ The first fruit to fall/ Smelling of ink and ash/ Scorched white faced currency/ Disappearing with urgency
We stood splattered with rot/ Each as vivid as the last lot/ A penis, hard on/ A vagina, closed, no form/ Conversations on Facebook/ Distracts many silent dinners/ The wriggling of a fetus/ Staring/ My eyes, your lashes/ Waiting to lead us
Until we listen/ This will remain/ Unfinished…
There was a man,
Fixtured in front of Midtowns new luxury highrise;
North and Piedmont.
Before I could take him a plate,
He was arrested and left behind
A basket of his life.
We think too small. Like the frog at the bottom of the well. He thinks the sky is only as big as the top of the well. If he surfaced, he would have an entirely different view.”
I have a mouth. More often it says too much.
I have a heart. More often it doesn’t feel enough.
I have a face. That’s no good at poker.
I have a God. Wish He’d poke in sooner than later.
I have a dream. And it is statused just that. A dream.
I have a son. He makes my goals clear again.
I have a husband. He gives me orgasms with his smile.
I have a pen. To work through my feelings. Otherwise I’d blow up the world.