The Road Between

Sometimes all there is to do is drive

and drive, and drive, and drive until

you forget to where you’re going,

you forget from where you came,

and you remember there’s no difference

except the road which lies between.

And when you don’t got the wheels

or means or place to stay

you walk, and walk, and walk until

it all makes sense enough to go away.

And you remember not to worry so much

as in all walks of eternity

you’re a part of this one, and the heartache

pain and blame is all just slapstick.

It’s a grand ole comedy of magic and men

who’d drown before they’d ever dive in.

So the next time I, see-you-me,

I hope we’re swimming in the Milky Way!

Travelers through time and time forgot,

our elephant minds remember.

Wind Chimes

Wind Chimes float—

With effortless ease—

It’s something we—

Could never quite be—

Two souls swirling

In the restless ear of want.

Wind Chimes, Florida, Dec 31, 2020

Juliet

She was warm and aware

Her bright eyes full of care

By the moon she was fair

as light danced through her hair

Like a sound, Juliet

she spoke wise with regret

Where I found it quite strange

by the light steady rain

Where footprints should have been

she had gone with the wind

While I lay awoken

by the rays of her infinite light

that old hotel

Each drive cross country

I’ve laughed, I have

Cried

Sang

Danced

Purged

Prayed

Lost and

Loved.

Etcetera,

etc…

So if you decide

to drive across state lines,

could you do me a solid?

Stop in Fayetteville.

See if that old hotel

is still standing,

the one I first told her I loved her,

—bedbugs and us—

before sleep took her away

and that cheap wine

nursed me tender

til morning’s

cruel light.

But how will you know

that old hotel? Well,

it’s just like all the rest now

I’m sure, remodeled to dust.

Another ghost among the many,

love’s whisper in the wind.

It’s all understandable. (for every no one who ever was)

To be honest

and be open

put yourself in

her hands like you’re a toy.

There’s a reason

for each season

pollen eaten

her wind cradles a boy.

They know nothing of us,

and we

know nothing of them.

We all

just sort of pretend.

We’re bitter still.

In the air there’s a bitter chill.

Like a car crash

I tell you that

it’s not too bad

we both just try not to stare.

In the glove box

there’s a snuff box

full of coupons

I keep in case that you cared.

The leaves on the ground,

remind me

how powerless that I am.

It’s natural to fall down,

we all

just sort of try to fit in.

Leave me alone, no don’t

leave me alone.

Memories fill my head

like waves

crashing down on the shore.

Just as soon as they hit

cast away

back to the ocean once more.

To be bitter

or be broken

understand that

this is for no one who ever was.

The morning

I’ve missed you

said the morning

to the man

at the top of the hill.

I’m so sorry

said the man

to the rising sun.

Don’t be sorry, be present

said the wind.

We’ve missed you, that’s all

said the trees.

And we’re glad that you are here

said the sun.

Thank you

said the man

at the top of the hill.

Now go

said the morning

there’s so much more for you to see.

So the man began

his descent into the valley

this time

with only his shadow trailing behind.

getting out of bed

However you get up and out of bed

or off the sidewalk

however you dig yourself

out of the grave is commendable.

And if you choose nothing

that too is just as valid

as choosing something.

I see far too many people

driving themselves mad

with work and love

and money and power

and fitness and greed and guilt

trying to fit into some sort of

idea they’re bred to believe

will fix them when really it won’t.

They don’t need to be fixed

or loved or loathed or accepted.

They just need to listen.

Listen to the air.

Listen to the ice crack when hot water hits.

Listen to the sea spray.

But I know nothing really.

All I know is what I see and what I see

is beautiful and diseased and delicate

like a rose petal or a dandelion flower

plucked from the earth by a child

in the outfield of a baseball diamond

wanting nothing more than to drift away

with the seeds he’s blown to anywhere else.

However getting out of bed

or the sidewalk or gutter is the first step

and the rest well, the rest is just —

up to you I guess.

The wind

And all the other times

The wind —

Giving it’s all

— Just won’t quit

Blowing you down

Forever and ever

Picking you back up

And tumble weeding

You onward

A momentary peace.

Quietly
seated
at rest
with desire
though
still
desirous,
he knows
better
than to
chase
the wind.

No longer
a girl
not yet
a woman
she will
find
her way,
at rest
by the
phases
of
the moon.

Together
they
are bound
by
foolish
pride
in one another,
backstroking
in tune
to the
ever-changing
tide.