Things I Wish I Knew

Not the original thought, no. Not what I had intended. Quite possibly instead a bowl of cherries dropped in a sheet. Bound in the four corners. The intent. The struggles. The wide awareness and the barrenness and the nakedness and the utter need. Plagues. And ambush. But still water to the traveler and shade on the weary. Who then? And why across the nations? Out into the abyss not turning back to see the blue fade. Sincere. Beautiful claim. That is the difference. Not tires or fires. No shock to the system. No. Depth. Covered and paved and sealed. No?    I say true. And it isn't three. I see that. And then, lost in the forest. Bear tracks all around. The same? Even a bit? Or just dunes of spice and rolls... It was the cause. And is again. How to get to the Yukon? Not much of a question. You can't miss it, but you'll need to know when to bring your coat. The answer apparently, is always. And that is the difference. A find ever so deep in the shaft. And it isn't the darkness that brings you there. This is the why. So then maybe you do go on pretending you've got your cabin on.

No Pictures, No Service

And you in the pink, you think it's enough. But it's not really. In fact not quite remotely. You'll wait for your own. In the dark. Between some bushes or under a few layers of scuttle brush. It's not as if this all didn't happen during the day. But here you are in the dark. Yet again. Waiting on some three cornered equestrian to save your hide. Well the hide for saving isn't just your own. Funny that. You open up a can of peaches to find that half the barrel has emptied to the sea. Or at least that's what you fear to find. Among all that glass and concrete. Or at least you might think so.
But you can't really go back. The walls you built only creates a look of compassion. But salt creeps in. Rust and cottered linen. And there through the trees you find no friend but a fiefdom waiting to take the B2 bombers you had set aside. They're not supposed to go in bin 4. You wish that nothing went there. Not that things don't belong there for you perhaps, but that isn't their place. It's rather more waiting a return from the Narrows. Safe and sound though possibly battered a bit.
Do you see it? Is it vaguely there? Have you grabbed it by the shoulder or have you found it gone in that darkness you found. Dammed and misdirected. Moss to the reef.
Or do you, as is said, see it faintly, dimly, ever so slightly. If so, then away with the rest. Cut the string. It reduces to a point mass. With the other free, portable for one hand.

Awaiting to sleep.

Back On Stage

Bah. Like me I suppose. And away and waiting and thinking and hoping. The rest isn't worth the three licks it takes to get to the center of the tootsie pop or any other manner of... shall we say, sucker. Appropriate. But I do. More than a desert. Or a bad party.  You;ve noticed that too I see. Possibly the chasm is easier to explore in the dark. That is what it is want. If else then things would be different. Lucky charms spilling out over piles of dimetrodons and magnetic gold. A fun idea... like others. And a bus. But you run the risk of running the red. Which when run, well a few more than the banana boxes will be in shambles. And if your friends don't get there quick but assured that the authorities won't let them, later. Caught?  ...no. That's not the problem.  It's the hindering. The purposed conclusion of all that was purposed. The failure to continue. Failure in truth.   Failure.     ...right.
Not sure I trust your definition or your judgement. Ha that! You may be right. An then there's Venus. Bright as the sun, round as the moon. Like a magnet in a box. Hope really? Again the same.  Right.
See it.

Empty House

Definitely not a plate of nachos. Though the dying candle adds a little something. Official now? Almost possibly. And yet for weeks nothing has said so as the other ninety seven percent of days. Put whatever you like in it. A dog, a bear. Some manner of imagined leprechan. Fair; you can add to or take away from the level of creep but what is...     ...just stays. You can't have thought otherwise. Not meanly, but rightly. You may be able to throw over that mountain, but I just can't. No, not half that far. So, now, frightfully more than ever.

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.