Soft suppression of forbodding, of knowing what I don't want to know. But it slithers in between deterents. Another rendition of self defeat. I have seen this show before. Towering balconies showering rejection, a young prince looking the other way as I pass, so many cinders and my broom is worn. Rain some more, pour on me so I know this is real. Keep the sacchrine memories of when things were good. I prefer the bite of breaking. Watch the blood escape in a mad rush toward extinction, watch the girl gather it back up and display what used to be in a fantastic charade, doting on illusion.
Tug me away from that dark past that searchs my pockets for guilt.
Sink me into an intoxicated romance.
Blind me to open my eyes to what there really is here.
I will follow you there, no questions.

I'm right in front of you.
Why can't you see me;
silently screaming,
violently whispering,
waiting for you to see
how every step is toward you
and your destructive affection.
Side steps are forced to protect
fragile necessity.
Smile, smirk, watch it all collide
into place.
***
Leaning in for one last goodbye
I could smell the unmatchable mix
of cologne, deoderant and wool
that only his chemistry commanded.
I lingered and let it seep into my memory.
I had to remember this.

Procrastination

The walls are moving in place, coming closer and I can feel their dusty breath. Light flakes off the windows and creates a shimmy of memory down my side view. They keep playing the same songs like my heart keeps playing the same tricks. Repetition creates a soft strength, one easily sucked away by weakness. Things stack and build across a feeble waffle of idealism. Past mistakes make a quick sprint across my vision. Wince if you will, won't do any good. Everyone does it.

To whom it may concern;
I am writing this because I am concerned for you. You seem distant. You don't see what is in front of you.I don't know you. You have no idea who I am. Does it matter? When you have to say something it doesn't really matter who you tell. There is a list of names that I don't want to see again. There are flashes of memory that make me cringe.There are moments that I wish I could rewind and repeat. There are some people, some folks I wish I could wrapup and keep in my pocket. There are words that I won't even share with myself. Softly I will lay across my days, from here on, and know what it was all for. Winking at what was raw, sighing for that deep living yet to come. There is no word to describe it, roll it up. So I will just say one, Love

Awkward twisting, squirming out of surrender.
Don't give up so easy.
Strain, sweat searing of desire,
dreams a melting sticky sweet,
Tug o' war with necessity.
Knashing at time
Gnawing of oral tradition.
***
Catching the bus, a little late a little too common place. Skirt needs shifting, one more button to go, coffee forgotten. Once her breath is caught she looks around at the staring patrons. They must be somewhere else where there is no smell of urine and something shinier and more singular guides them to work. She recedes to her own version of reality. Her's is one of a bigger place; office, apartment, car, shopping list, dating pool...family. The sun shines bravely
through the unloved bus windows and a foggy light illuminates her face. At the next stop an older lady with a market basket bumps down the steps and releases a seat for her. Steady, as the bus takes off she claims the seat and she feels that she is getting what she paid for. Knowing the office is 6 stops away she takes a few deeper sighs and releases some of the knots that her job creates because it is still 24 minutes away. She thinks back to yesterday; performace review day.
It's not that she doesn't care about her job or how well she does it. But something keeps putting its foot in the door as she tries to shut out distraction. Maybe she is allowing the foots intrusion. Maybe she doesnt want continuity. Yet she recieved a mediocre judgement, another pale comparison. It made her wince that a man that wears mostly brown and combed over a bald spot in a hopeless attempt at salvation was the one that was telling her she was commonplace, average. Yet there it was on the yellow form infront of her out of 7, two 3's in productivity and timeliness, one 4 in organization and a 5 in professionalism. The numbers seemed to bounce around her head the night after and wouldnt leave her alone. She snapped oper her eyes and noticed immediatly that she had passed the exit and jumped from her brown bench. Shit

That day that lonely hearts look to validation and for hidden souls to come out to light and admit.
Its today and as the day passes it gains speed. There is a time approaching that settles on my anticipation and sets up a restless camp. It feels so well to know that he is waiting too. But what of this day that hearts look to? Does it signal something monumental? Those three words maybe? Or just the flash of a true soul. I sit and wait and wonder what the night will bring. Quiet tradition sits in my lap and pants for a Valentine to come, the one that I looked to as a girl. A saint that will cash in his ticket for the rest of my lonely heart days. They will be his. I will timidly take his ticket as if it were gold, as if it were real. Then it will be.

Tall stretch of skin, scraping the top of my consiousness.
Why do you follow me here? I want to be alone.
Always whispering care.
Tell me again that you'll never leave,
maybe I will believe you this time.
Outside your grasp, between these covers
You smile but cover something.
I am curious but not enough.
I think your past is crooked and slant away from me.
I shake at what happened, what you won't say.
Sweet words dilute the poisons
but I can't risk it again.
Holes can't fill holes.

Note to self:

Kissing means everything
Windows looking over lights and oceans can signal bliss
Words not spoken usually multiply with time
When the sky is blue how can you be?
When it's your song, you must sing it, no matter who is around
Take a minute, just one. Take it and it's yours.
Challenges are opportunities
Excuses are a bottomless well of fear
Today, you should do it.
Tomorrow you will feel better.
When it seems like what you are looking for isnt around,
look for something else.
Untold wisdom is unspent wealth.
Fall
Laugh
Sing
Dance
Speak Up
Slow down
Get Up
Smile
Cry
Don't forget why you are here
You will get hurt
But it hurts more to think of what might have been.
I love you

I can be everything you love.

A vibration alert and he begs an entrance, center stage.
I smile and bow;
glancing back only to nod
at the ragged hurdles I dominated.
Rising higher,
no more drag,
seeing the residue slough,
seeing clarity personified,
seeing where I was born,
where I am.
Walk through and feel that tug at what you are.

Clown Fish

Don't know what to say. Washed it all away. Documented it somewhere and let it go back where it belongs. I won't regret you. Seems bitter in the light of day. Soft edges removed and true rugged shows its face; not ashamed but rough. He veered out of control and hit me stationary and willing, with open arms. Let it be what it was and walk away.
Write the next...


Drops of emotion on the page, my ink tears smear the perfection of innocence.

out of order

Can't get my mind off of you because you won't let me go. You keep pulling me in like a disgruntled fisherman. "Smile on me, take me in from the cold for the night only and leave me tomorrow." Sweet and narrow, deep and brief. Cascades of laughing recession as I crawl back where I started. I can't take it with me. Smiles get further and further until only a subtle curve shows through. Crooked shapes fill your absense and soften under times steady hand. It's level again.

I left you out.

Don't ask why or for how long.

You were something I wanted to see take shape.

You were something I saw Daily.

Just leave with your soft words

and failing intentions.

I will sit and wait for the numb to come back;

my partner.

Brick by minute seals you alone from me.

Mortered by defunct hopes and late expectations.

As the wall climbs the sun rises and I roll towards that good again.

He sees her car pull in and feels a quickening in his body. He has been through this routine countless times and has been through it even more often on his days off. She finally finds a spot in the back of the parking lot, away from the caffeinated comings and goings. She thinks no one notices that she changes in the parking lot, but he knows. He imagines from behind his counter her pulling off the thin work cloths and uncomfortable shoes and slip into old jeans and older shoes. He can see the tight squeeze and the lifting of the pelvis in the drivers seat as she pulled up the jeans that laid dormant during the long work day. Finally equipped for comfort she enters his realm. He watched from the side as she entered the loud and bright coffee shop. The other patrons lift their anxious heads to see what is disturbing their psuedo-intellectual conversations and lap-top conferences. She seemed to smile at the room, at no one in particular. Approaching the counter she doesn't notice the menu but does notice the glass case that she will never order from, but is daily tempted by. He doesn't even pretend to not know her order; large coffee, extra shot, add some ice to quicken delivery. She smiles at the familiarity; as if no one knows her as well as he. Her smile is so genuine he actually starts to think that that is true. But someone must be waiting for her to come home, counting, sighing for her presense. Every day, she might not notice, but he comes a little closer, smiles a little bigger, tries a little harder to coincide his releasing of the cup with her attaching. Across the counter, across that small moment, he can connect with her. For that split second they are not alone. She retraces her steps and he watches every one. as he does he imagines his tomorrow; he will wear his newest workshirt and those black corduroys that he got from the thrift store during high school. Show her that he doesn't address the need to pay hundreds of dollars on what Macy's thinks is appropriate. He will wear the black bandana over his shoulder length hair and the Chuck's that had seen better days. He would have energy, that carbonated idea that he could do anything. Everyone would see his smile and want more of it; especially her. She would walk in right on schedule in nice tight jeans and an old, tight blue v-neck. He can picture her putting them on in her car and he feels warmer suddenly. She would feed off his energy and smile and flirt and the moment, the right one that always is readily available in romanitic comedies but flailing and rare in real life shows its face, right down the center. He grabs it and says, "We have to stop meeting like this."She smiles and he feels a foot taller. "Where do you suggest we meet then?" He knew she was perfect.
The real tomorrow arrives and he sits perched at his coffee throne and waits for 5 o'clock. 5:15, 5:47, 6:13. He takes off his bandana and curses the thing that changed her mind.

They move right through you;
no catching,
embracing something softer than rejection.
Dismissed and I am still missing something
omitted or never added to begin.
Blank staring at closing credits;
still can't figure the ending.

blue monday

Tumultuous again, after all that steady.
Thought I owned it then they come falling back in the picture again;
smiling and promising without words.
I silently accept the bargain forgetting the smoke I will meet in their place.
Such a beautiful illusion it is that fools me every time.
So sweet that ends so sour.
Climb back up and accept it all for what is is;
sobering of drunkeness that you call love;
the dream of love anyway.

I think I can make an excuse for you and your raging motivations. I will dip down, scrap around in the dark and figure out why you did it. At first it cut deep and made me look at the wound, at the red and black of it. I saw the blood escape and questioned its rush. Now I see no reason for it.
I could even find you on some dark night and ask you why? Face to face, no electronic middle man. You will shuffle uncomfortably in your brown shoes and whisper some apology, some strong willed regret. But I dont ask to make you uncomfortable or guilty. I see now. Just want you to see the human that was pushed about unkindly. No remorse or anger sits around waiting to strike. Just a questioning logic, asking questions of the illogical. The heart can be dizzy sometimes; most times.

as if

there will never be time for dark. So I keep up speed toward you. You enter through the back and I almost don't notice. But that soft smell of desire gives you up, pulling me toward you, I can't help that pull. A delicate cord connects us and sways with the days. Weakening and strengthening and swelling and stretching as you recede to that life you know. I am here speaking to you across the distance. You are listening between pictures. Simple tastes of you stick to my memory, they handle an intensity deep in me, rendering me weak. Eyes roll back, a flash of breathless and a slight dip in heartbeat are all thats left of you.