Leeward

Wanted a notice. Something a little more than normal. Warranted given the distance and fairly level terrain between. It's colder now though, inside brings me chills. Not dark but unwanted nonetheless. Oh indeed my friend. Those are the times. The times when fear may not be unwarranted and hope may be in season. A sketch here, a draft there. They all bring back and forget the things upon the mind. Though they too of themselves are forgotten.

And what then? What is this all in light? I pray it be a blossom and not a glacier of blue; stoic, looming and constant. The one I know. The other, would. And clear through the ice may find no less occasion than unsettles on the mind. It happened, not happens. Both lies and to that end defiles.

The Road to Hell

I haven't forgotten you. I may have come close. That edge back there a few miles was pretty distracting I will admit. It was. But I haven't forgotten. And I don't intend on doing so anytime soon.

Has it Been So Long?

Sitting underneath the way in the dimming light you'd think that every passer by might notice what has come to be so tangebly obvious to you. So pressing on your mind. No. Further more on your soul. The spirit. The body. Neither can release from it.  A compression of all that is you. Confined and at bay. The ability to talk without speaking. To listen out what will be said. No chance for freedom. No brush with success. Hoping to live. Just once. A moment longer than could be imagined. But a moment none the less. Like the sun, but the moon. Far better in fact, as you are probably familiar with.

You know what I want? A day. Just one day. Nothing else will matter and all will be now. Here. This is no errant wish or flock. Hold the sinking back, the wrench in your works. Stop looking for a red sky. Stop with the endless queries. The listlessness. The lifely commute. Oh to show you what was and could be. To make it all.

To be what is.

The Moon

There are those who try. There are those who don't. There are those who have their own. And there are those who have yours. There are those who want. There are those who share. There are those who know it. And there are those who care not for it. And there are those who must show. There are those who just feel it. There are the quiet and the meek. There are the boisterous and cut. There are many. And then there is you.

Dear Jane

You can think that this is a letter of some sort of apology if you will. But well, you can take that as you may, if you may. It;s all you seem to want anyway. Attention. More than I or any man with any character would give. Not much for pets any way. I don't want to own one. That isn't what I'm in the mood for. Nor hope I that it ever will be. You miss who I am if you think you can push me into it. I just want to eat my cheerios in peace. And you can eat yours. Dori proved my point. And then somehow, I feel sad for you. Never getting what you want because you don't have the patience for it. But sometime, it will be seen in you. When you're too tired to keep pushing it like you do. To tired to keep playing or pretending and you just stop and let yourself be who you are. Which possibly is the real reason I like you best asleep. So give yourself a chance. It'll come.

Edit

And flake. You say you've got it right? No. No you just lie.        ...              sad that.  that that which you want most you completely falsify on. not a word.     Just on.   and on...       Forgotten? No. I can't say so. In the back on my head? Round some large pile of books? Yes. Conversing with the devil. No juncture. No conglomeration. Amalgamate and protrusions. It. Stops.

cold.           

and baring. Should never have washed that sweatshirt. Just on and on. I fear that too is gone. And what a loss. No threepeat. No second chance daisies. The avalanche awash and none to recover. Animation makes it seem so real. so easy.   A portion of the fear to take my head. Guide it. Like you? No. A shadow and a post. All could follow. Then what?   Then forget what once was. That end has come. And one. Let that be enough. We could pick a house to live in but never ever move. We chain up our bikes and replace our shoes. But the fall has come. And like so many times before it will stay only a little while, making you think it has brought you a friend by the time you are ready to receive it. Both sides cheat. Simple as that. And so continue on, no fire, no flight. Forgotten of ourselves.

Should?

First off, that word. Just look at it. And keep looking at it 'til you see what I see. Now, I don't know if that's possible. My eyes being the, what the folks in town call, marijuana blue but I think that at least this once that oughtn't get in the way. And really it can't be that hard. In fact if my suspicions and fears are correct, someone from the hills has seen it already. But why suspice and fear, driven of malice's capricion? A sight to behold. A prize unknowing. Liberated. And so as in word, deed. I know not. I did. And do. And wonder if I ever will. But seeing and hearing are indeed two different things. The one does not comprise the other. Nor do they form the same. So again I say it be so. Take me as you will. Know me and that will be enough. So, yes, Mr. Anderson, the answer to your question is yes. Yes, I did well.

That Would Have Been After

Which is nice I suppose. I would hope. If all would have been understood and not assumed. One of my favorite moments in fact. Nothing big. Just what I had hoped for. Which if all of it were taken together, is so little and yet so much to ask. Like that old elephant. Much so.

If not that, then what? Shot in the back for nothing? Shot in the back is sad enough. The places. The things. And one. Well Alexis, that indeed is the only question left. And funny enough I can see him asking it that way. Water to your cement. Water to your hot iron. Piece by piece itself will protract to one great whole. And what then shall be found but that what was ready to be given away for its flawed design, when tuned is priceless.

Peasantry

You can fear the bear. That's ok. No one blames you. No one thinks that's ridiculous. No one would dare to question your motivations. And certainly not your fears. At least not with its mouth wide open chasing you. But put that bear in a patch of blueberries ever so far away, photographed by Ector's telescopic lens on the cover of Quilting Semi-annual and you will be hounded and driven. By quilters. What. Do. They. Know. Miles away behind the safety of halftone inks. They weren't there. Their chest wasn't on the verge of collapsing in their throat. They pity the fool, yet know nothing of pity for they know not the fool. But you do. Oh yes. You've got a hold on that at least.  ...some of the time. Case in point. All you asked was the question. And look what that got you.

Leave the phone on the hook. It'll only get you in trouble.

Frothy

Think of something. Something you'd like to do. Something you've wanted to do for quite some time. You've thought about it. There. Now require that you add a cup of sugar when all you've got is an old oak stump.

Yeah, it's kind of like that.

Hopelessness to the Hopeful

I hope you haven't taken this wrong, though I imagine you have. It frigids the soul. Both in fact. Don't see that? I apologize. But there is a 24 oz on my plate and I don't think it's moving anywhere in time or space with a half mass buscuit on the end of a stick. Stick-a-jello. Trade mark it if you will. But in the sun I will say better is found than in the box. How I missed that? Jefferson's vile green weed. It's a bowl. And here we are. A stark reminder that you wouldn't really like in. You could just as well put back your beer if that was on the top of your tens. It wasn't in your favor. It wasn't intended in your favor. It mightn't that sway. And how to say this kindly...? If the flame spare not that in season then how ever the seasoned? Activation energy isn't relevant off the order.

Oh and one last word of caution, while we're on the subject, you who could possibly in bad lighting mistake this... don't.
Horton testifies.

17

What's my favorite thing to do you ask? ...chop down trees. The taller the better. If you found where on earth these things could lead to you'd understand it's not a house being built or the construction of a book. A fire and revolution. Once and again. The Red Spot that won't be taken away. Only to be lost when out of sight. And after the sun, the moon. The moon. More easily outshined. More easily hidden. Depending on the phase, too forgotten.By surprisingly many. A headline and a cot. But Marty you've seen this one before. Unless I not mistaken you'll see it again. If only that letter would be read. But you fail then to see, missing what wasn't present. Sin indeed. What never was related was never too written. And in failing to let the pour cure the whole dam wash downstream. Symptoms of a plague beset. Beset now open the whole. What has become of your hours? Not two months or a day, just seventeen.

Happy Really

We can find betimes that what comes easy may be what really is inside us. If we define our life like that we will find ourselves more often condemned than justified. But think of someone you know. Does their ease or their strain define them. And we must remember, we are not creatures of inertia, we are of action. Ease is not a load. Strain is not a condition. What we push for defines us. A tensor really. That is you. And that is me. It's as simple as music or the post. Look harder? No. That will not save anyone. calm. clean. and there lost in the simple foreground. The flats. But maybe you had to be there. No, I think you should have been there. We would have had some fun.