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 — hell

it’s already 1:03

and I’m hungry

but

I’ve got no food to eat —

so call it in the air

no

on second thought

I’ll just let this one be.

I let me.

God

the places I have known

and the places I have seen

and the places I will see

God willing

God help me

and to think

I don’t care much for God

only as much as he pulls for me

but oh God oh God oh me

what wonders we have to see

if willing, and willing

I let me.

a lone bird

There’s a lone bird

chirping somewhere unseen

and a cold gentle wind

scratching at my knee,

it’s the crack of dawn

sunrise

another day I’ll see,

and though my throat hurts

my ankle weak

I too sing a little tune

with that lone bird

just to let him know

I hear him.

A view from 3614 W. Magnolia Blvd.

While someone’s tightening the belt

strapped firmly around the throat

and another’s sporting her crown of thorns

trailing hoots and hollers towards hell

there’s a man dressed casual

waiting for the bus, and it’s cold

and he’s dancing with himself

and he’s smiling, sadly so am I.

What I couldn’t say in person.

I can say I failed

Or

I can say it worked out

just as it was supposed to

And

her and I can move forward

knowing our paths weren’t meant to cross

Again

the past is all we had in common

and well, the past must be laid to rest.

Sleep well my friend

until then

I wish I hadn’t been so mean

But

I wish you only the best,

even though I’m sure that’s hard to believe.

rhythm of words

constantly tinkering

toying in turn

churning and yearning

and combing inward

what does it mean

I haven’t the urge

just sort of liked

this rhythm of words

the war unseen

Even in times of peace

the war unseen

rages on inside

someone, somewhere

like a match

full of absolute sulfur

just a spark

heard yet never seen

felt like a ghost

in the corner of the eye

ready to strike

and oh how it does,

oh how it haunts.

poetry is spam

A large portion of

poetry is spam.

But I don’t eat that stuff,

at least not until I get to see Hawaii

then who knows?

I hear, fried with an egg, it’s good.

When in Rome, you know;

when in Rome.

a kind of dance

Nobody

gets out of there own way

they just get in the way of others

watch, listen, blend in

and you’ll see.

Hyde in Jekyll’s clothing.

Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde

unleashed by use of potion

as swift as light

as evenings cloak

a wrecking ball in motion

of skin and flesh

a heart so dark

devoid of all emotion

it’s midnights grip

from which I hide

and seek to cure

this strange compulsion

like many men

before my time

who tried to rid the notion

of good and evil

within one mind

a harlequin commotion

where in the end

come banging fists

as silent screams approach him

to slay the monster

from within

the cure his own expulsion

and in plain clothes

lay to rest

Hyde in Jekyll’s clothing.