When I stacked Bugles on fingertips
When I stacked Bugles on fingertips,
bounding on beds throwing fits,
birthdays were for me with presents not weapons
against demons, how fulfilling was fun? back then
when I played to play–for I must–
’till time was told by dusk,
when chimney smoke and riding bikes were fall,
no note of the girls dressed half as tall,
before I knew what all my parts where suppose to do
and realized I could easily live in a rue,
before wrist watches rubbed my thigh
and never took the first reply to my “Why?”
Altars and bedposts
Self-pity, slave to redemption,
relishing in sin, resolute on change
gripping altars and bedposts–
Oh, the place of forever forgiveness:
begging for another antithesis of happiness,
seduced by clean slates and benevolent determination
yearning to scrawl dirt on this dead man’s walls
emphasizing my empathy for the lonely,
you forgive my forever forgiveness
or chalk another tally of public propitiation?
Happiness. . .I think not
When you wish,
make a list,
and finally open it
(happiness). . .I think not.
I love you, yes, but cannot lie:
I waste time lying in your arms.
Does guilt consume when I kiss you?
I feel alive only when second-guessing?
Passing the same wooden fence
Don’t know the road
I’m on highway 20.
Another thumb appears
could I spare a seat
for I’m lost looking for a sign?
Plenty, yes, problem’s finding mine,
beginning to doubt my confidence
passing the same wooden fence
passed a few moments passed.
Wouldn’t change a thing
if I was sad or a tad smiling,
I wouldn’t change a thing for
I’m happy if you don’t want me,
to be the one wanting you
every moment till the day I die.
He’s got something for me,
and I’m not sure it’s someone–
don’t care to know,
because I wouldn’t change a thing
every moment till the day I die.
Copper pennies
Copper pennies rolling across hardwood floors
camouflaged by stain, heavy spit from change jars,
“Messy chunks!”
I yell inside as pennies wave farewell:
split onto the floor–
another relationship gathers spare change,
but solid the jar still stays–albeit sideways–
ready for another handful of unwanted memories
and thoughts of distrust culminating in
bills beckoning a deeper exchange
Greens go hunting
greens go hunting
and white glows,
the clouds signal rain,
yet none shows,
the wind carries melody
through screened in windows
to my ear space
sweet and mellow,
books cry “Read me!”
but the music screams, “Go!”
See me, sea wood floating
See me, sea wood floating upon the sea
not even a wave asking, not believing.
I believe if I were wood I would see
if I could stop being sea wood.
Hmmm?. well….
No buildings would be formed–
no use, not even fire on the shore
– James 1:6
Another helping of rain
Can’t help hoping for another helping of rain
narrated by thunder and barn’s bang
as hues transform twilight and night slowly covering
a saturated sun setting behind dark clouds hovering,
swinging the spectrum on a pendulum that humidies hang
tragically, intimately close to my heart’s pain.
Boy watches
Boy watches girl sitting on bananas–
surrounded in road signs, pin-ups, and pop-ups–
ripping CD’s and a heart far away bleeding,
making a “love-making” mix for a friend
for his 21st and last birthday.
One more cuticle from a hangnail,
as actions appoint us owners of everyone’s future;
deciding right and wrongs momentarily–
autonomous and lonely as a form-filled mailbox.