rough edges

(my photo)

scraping the last

crumb from the plate

and downing the last

inch of coffee

everything else is quiet
and she is still asleep
( I smile in a
  luminous silence )

the sunrise is beautiful...
a fog hovers over the pond
and drifts through the trees

  I wonder why all of this
  has to end

  are we already in the midst
  of our smooth transition
  from vibrancy to decay

  or is this still 
  the beginning

no matter what, the fog will
disappear
and its inevitable that this
sunrise will become noon

she will gather up her dreams
and awaken
and we will love again where
we left off

things will end as they're
supposed to, I suppose

one way or the other
there will be some
rough edges

this path

twisted turns
and the dead ones
crunch beneath my feet

it's hard to find sunlight
through the canopy
and my will is gone

I'm at the mercy
of something venomous
something predatory

but I chose to take this path
so I will fight my way
back out of this mess

(my photo)

journal-21, I need a new shower head

sarcastically speaking, isn't life wonderful. I mean the timing of things sometimes is just absurd. like waking up one day to find out you're positive for covid and then within the same hour the only one you've ever truly loved says it's over. of course this happens on a Monday because like life, sarcastically speaking, aren't Mondays wonderful

I look for small escapes when I need them. like sitting in silence and staring out into the nowhere for a while. or taking a long hot shower, letting the water completely cover my ears, isolating me into a semi-submerged state as I stand there. the sound of the water rushing by mutes everything else. I hear only myself, but I'm not saying much. I'm in a depth, a distance from things, a vacancy

however, the dilemma... my new place has a shower head that disperses the water in streams that are too thin and too far apart to accomplish this. I tilt my head in every direction, but no luck. no small escape is provided

the weather upstairs in the heart of turmoil is fiercely hellish with the occasional gust from the polar mouth of winter. I feel frozen in place while burning up. I feel a virus is active. covid or love, I'm not really sure which. one of them I will surely recover from. the other, I'm hoping, will just completely take me down

when

ordinary days are not the same anymore, I'm with her here and there, mostly I'm not, mostly I miss her, mostly I'm alone wondering why I'm still alone, wondering if we'll ever be together, but mostly... I wonder when

we get stuck on pause/rewind/repeat until play moves us forward in cartoon-paced slow-motion, another worry in her head, another scene plays out in mine, we both want the hurt to stop, and it will... but we don't know when

we make love on occasion, its always otherworldly, its a kissfuck tender-to-rough-sucked delight that's physical-turn-spiritual and inward-fulfilling, a blissful endless orgasmic loveclimb that's only limited by the constraints of... when

love floats everywhere, its all around us, we grasp we grab but we only get some of it, we are distanced but devoted, connected but promises apart, she says she wants a life with me, and I want a life with her, but our days keep wasting away to... when

(image from saatchiart.com)

among leaves

I'm gazing out across the field of trees wondering which leaf I am. which insignificant burst of life that comes forth and falls to the ground unnoticed. any one of them could come and go and its space would just be filled in by another. there's no happiness or sorrow, no being loved or unloved. among leaves life is simple, there's no heart by which they suffer

I find myself out there in a million different places, hanging on in a million different ways. I am the bright green new one, little and fresh. I am red and golden with Autumn's touch. I am fluttering in the breeze, mangled by the storm, lightly frail in the drought. I am each and I am any

I come upon my last self. it's winter and it's cold. I am ready to let go. the branch is already bare but for me. I'm looking down and I'm not afraid to fall. come spring others will gaze and new leaves will be here. I will not be remembered. I will not be missed. the eyes delight in what they see, in what's in front of them. never in what's gone

(image from best-wallpaper.net)

empty, beautiful

how quickly the sunrise comes and goes
  the passenger seat was empty
  the view was quite beautiful
  no one saw me smile

  I didn't shave again this morning
  dropped an egg on the kitchen floor
  the yolk failed to break
  no one heard me laugh

  a little boy said hello to me
  the line at the DMV wasn't too bad
  his face was unimpressionable
  no one shared my happiness

  everything important is abstract
  love is a challenging endeavor
  the sanctity of touch is forgotten
how quickly the sunrise comes and goes

(my photo)

out of focus

everything's muddled in the
middle
and the smudged edges of
the mirror now plague me

those undefined forms of
self that lie on the periphery
seemingly always intangible,
always circumnavigating

I want to see past my own
reflection into other things.
there's clarity in the darkness
once you get there

but there is such a long way
off and out of focus.
I need to make sense of what's
here, what's in front of me

(image from zestymaids.com)

light

all the grass turns
green again
and every hour is
a new hour

fears are doomed by
the light,
light by which now
guides us in

light that spills and
splashes scattered,
bouncing gleefully from
here to there

from me to you, from
you to me
and all the grass turns
green again

dear diary

there are
people in the streets
my mouth foaming yours
with cult-like optimism
shared fanny packs of
viral inhibitions

heads yawing left n right
paralyzed scrambled ambition
under a cell tower the
fog consistency of hated
loving is repetitious

cereal on a spoon we
sugar lust sweeter than
necessary when plain
loses taste the mind
fantasizes better addictions

debits equal credits the
church pew offering is a
pharmacy counter exchange
hands trembling fearful
desperate giving n receiving

washing sweaty sheets
again the fever spreads
despite the foreplay agenda

dear diary
we are lost today

(Agony by Marcus Ortega on fineartamerica.com)

potential energy

in simpler times
the day could be gray
well into the night,
but all was fair
and all was easy
as she folded linens in the
hallway before supper

the garden swayed
in sunlit explosions
just outside the window,
life was stored in each
tranquil breath
as she folded linens in the
hallway before supper

its a changed day
and chaos climbs like
weeds and vines
choking the house in.
ignorance is bliss
as she folds linens in the
hallway before supper

life unencumbered
is a crazy dream,
hardships and heartaches
have insatiable appetites.
there’s bombs on the horizon
as she folds linens in the
hallway before supper

(image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)

harbor

soft rescue
isolation in your harbor

where does the
gazing into nowhere
lead to

daydream playgrounds
the far-off happiness
laughter in love

I want to bring everything
closer,
all obtainable

the distraction holds me
for just a few moments
and then I turn

always toward you
  my One
  my One

always toward you

(my photo)

journal-20, out of place

I don't know if I'm happy yet. nothing here knows me and I know nothing of it. feeling distant from everything. uncomfortable and unsure. my familiar home, the midnight beach, is so far away. I should be there right now. I can feel it all around me ... nostalgia is a ghost, slowly dissipating ...

and these same stars are not the same. and these trees that rustle in the wind are not the ocean's waves. the impact is different. I am unaffected so far. but we are still strangers getting acquainted. perhaps misunderstood. perhaps standoffish

I'm a late night soul. never ready for the sunrise. an aching gaze, restless, agitated. but the morning rises beautifully here. nature awakes in astounding colors, fresh with dew and wings and songs. a nude arrival, unabashed and outspoken

I will learn this new romance, embrace this new intimacy, form this new bond. this will be the place of my body. this will be the place of my heart. there's peace here, if I can settle into it. we need some time together. we need poetic interaction. we need not refuse the newness of obvious love. we just need some more time together... for now, I'm still feeling out of place

(my photo)

we kiss

we kiss until
something-o’clock
because time can just
fuck off while we’re
together

we kiss like
first-time anytime
lovers
embraced, entranced
in the moment
unforgiving

we kiss as equals
completely involved
into depths undiscovered
by any kiss before
ours

we kiss
petrified of losing
something precious

we kiss and we
forget that we
just might be
human

we kiss as if we’re
knots tied tighter
and tighter

we kiss hungry
and energetic,
sex-tasted and
lust-lathered

we kiss our pasts away,
we kiss our future closer

we kiss now

and we know everything
we need to know
about love

and the possibility of
loss

(The Kiss, fineartamerica.com)

small wings

even these
small things
have wings

the lowest on
the food chain
still fighting
for survival

in the corner
of a room
a quiet poet
struggles with
a line

I didn’t 
eat well today

and there’s an
overwhelming
voice in my
head
telling me that
its just about
over

(image by v777tony on deviantart.com)

taken by the song

I’ve taken off my skin
to be with you,
all these ratty colors
dropped to the floor

there’s no reason for me
to move from here,
either you’ll like what you see
or you won’t

our time is dying in place,
sharp seconds are a slur
and each tick is a
humming decrescendo,
indecipherable

taken by the song

the low decaying of
the knell

(image from Michael Brunsfeld on flickr.com)