I don’t want a perfect you.
I don’t want an imagination
Resting on commercialized ideals
And mis-spent laments.
No.
I want your messiness and chaos
And moments that urk me,
And crazy eyes and silent times
And hugs that will never end
Because forever is a time
I will be left thinking of you.
And just maybe,
If I count my lucky stars enough,
I will be right there
Next to you,
Smiling,
Winding my clock backwards
Elongating time to expand
These moments that make up you.
From my angle I wasn’t the nerd,
I had the best cold coffee
Settling in the bottom of my to-stay mug,
Rattling around the inside
Of my drastically hungry belly.
I had too many ideas to be passive
And in discourse with unfriendly patrons.
Why are you smiling at me, saying hello?
I’m on the other side of the room.
Can’t you see my furrow, blinded by dull lights?
Perhaps I’m the unfriendly one.
From my angle, I was the mission.
I had written the outline and
Focus was my middle name.
The timer was ticking and
I wasn’t wasting motivation
On Whiskey River in the Jar’O.
I had water to accompany the drip.
Keep the lights low and let
This chaotic music recklessly skip
Into oblivion my cycling mind
Which cannot refuse to be free.
From my angle I had a perfect view
Of both the flighty pixie,
Distracted with a proper stein,
And the siren gently calling my name.
I knew her, of course,
One of the few to break this furrow
And cause me to tarry by name.
Thus, I aggressively gather my activist heart
And settle my score with a battling pickaxe
And two shiny 2013 quarters
That rattle over the buzz and out the door.
Your morning smells make me aware
I’ve become a sitting star
Awaiting on a little white spell
To wake me of my mist.
So long as I can keep a smile
That tames my licking tongue,
I will, at once, begin my day
Indulging in my desires.
A symphony of destruction broke into this heart
(a firm grip)
Which wasn’t available to remark
Due to insubstantial evidence;
Lack of memory.
Foreboding like distant clouds of electricity,
A smile lept into a place of fear
Which departed like a slick lover
Amidst heated darkness.
To which the happy couple waltzed on,
Around and around until fire held the lover’s
Freshly waxed mustache and
Used-car-garage-black dancing shoes
(no scuff marks),
Turned fast lindy hop
Which left our heroes glistening
(jacket casually over shoulder)
Upon a midnight jaunt
About the seaside boardwalk
Amidst leftover lovers and fellow romancers
(deeply involved).
If you’re homesick,
Let rain wash you home.
If you’re silent,
Let music slowly cry.
If faces never cease to smile,
Let good hearts believe
And deeply caress thee,
And settle your soul
Into a tiny canvas bag
Ensigniated with a rose.
Being able to take over the heart of an ancient soul was creating pressure within the young boys heart.
He saw wisdom, he saw truth, but he also saw the windows of time shift from opportunity to rest, from an ounce of hope to pains that lifted one awake shortly after midnight.
A silent lake was a window.
Like glass, a heart is precious; always suspended at the edges of tomorrow picturing faint smiles and implied intentions.
Here the young boy clutched tightly to his grandmothers pointer finger, understanding conscious kindness in her forever eyes that always found his quietly.
They were together often for this reason, but also her lemonade tasted like sweet nectar.
He would remember this as time would slowly reduce rations of nectar but still filled full with every bit of love.
Only mid-summer’s sun and a lazy bumblebee were present as Grandma smiled and laid her head against the sun chair, closing her eyes.
The young boy drew a shape of a heart on the dusty table top before he walked down the steps and out into the yard where he found his foot soldier, Rusty, the valiant family golden retriever that kept watch over the young boy while Grandma rested her smiling heart – shaded, but in the sun.
Your smile
Is nice,
And I enjoy
How you’ve
Shared that
With me.
Your smile is nice
And I enjoy
How you’ve
Shared that
With me.
Peace is an infinite space,
A note left ringing
That fades into white
But lingers and returns
When all the stars
Have smiled a few times.
Like your romantic eyes
My mischievous smile left traces
Along your hips and knees and
Twists of air circling about
Thousands of your dangling hairs
