moving West

I flipped myself

like a coin

then flipped again

just to see

if heads or tails

would land twice

like a pollinating

honey bee

I figured if I had a

50/50 chance

I might as well

take a look see

and feel what lie on the

other side of dying

rather than spend another

long day trying

to convince myself

I’d be better off another house wife

crying

into coffee

or screaming into laundry

relying on the offerings

of innocent smiles

casting unintentional

shadows on my coffin

of denial

marred by my own

self loathing

which like a

preacher’s devotion

I took such pride

in approaching

solitude

like a potion

endlessly encroaching

on my own

well being

I admit I was broken

so I flipped that coin

heads

then I flipped myself

tails

and discovered

this notion

that

heads or tails I was going

Going

Gone

with the wind

not a rolling stone

or a tumbleweed

not a nickel or dime

not a honey bee

no I was a wreck

cast far out to sea

but that’s just the thing

it took all that to see

moving West wouldn’t be

all that easy for me

no nothing is lucky

nothing is free

except the glow of bonfire

in the dead of tree

where dancing shadows

take form and

I’m just

understandably me ā€” hell

it’s already 1:03

and I’m hungry

but

I’ve got no food to eat ā€”

so call it in the air

no

on second thought

I’ll just let this one be.

everything

just because you can get everything

doesn’t mean that you should get everything

because everything

doesn’t really mean everything

when it’s all you’ve got

on the mountaintop

We spoke a lot out there about how different folks live their lives,

about the idea of success and what it really means to feel comfortable in circumstance,

about family and virtue,

giving back and taking more consciously.

We say the things up there

on the mountaintop,

which are hard to say among the crowds and noise of the working world’s downturned head,

but no less we come back down renewed.

Ourselves as liars.

Imagine

there are two sides to every story,

sometimes three, four,

most times there are twelve.

It depends,

on who we are, who we’ve been

and who we’re trying to be,

like auditioning for a role.

And it’s easy to say,

that you never tell a lie,

or that I’m always wrong.

If I were to believe that,

if you, are so able to believe that

then, clearly

somebodies a liar.

We do not want, but accept these things.

Unintentionally rude.

Little disheartened sighs.

Incapable of speech.

And worrisome.

Fearful of what, exactly, is unknown.

Trying not to incite confusion.

Attempts not to quarrel only create greater tension.

Anxiety.

Disdain.

We do not want, but accept these things.

In silence,

there is no argument but a stalemate.

Like a fruitless game of chess.

On egg shells,

we walk,

stiff kneed,

toes clenched,

trying not to crumble.

Trying desperately to surrender.

Our sympathy and concern,

marred by our inability to grasp the others discontent.

We slowly close our eyes.

And wake in the morning,

anew.