musings & scribbles

the voice of a young wind-piercer hints at seconds passing;
as though unheard, they find way from chin/neck to let known their being,
and they are, in all ways, known now.

his demeanor was of a man wrought with a madness; a madness only surpressed by the peace of simple things, such as the management of seconds, and not moments.

there is a world in front of you; there is an adventure around you; there is a world a part from you; and you just sit there, staring, reading, moving your eyes as though they were your flailing arms, but all you ever hear is the sound of cackling songwrites and bitchy clickings of this board, this 6×18.

and he, this
naive fool
waits for the perfect time
to tell her but nothing ever happens
enough to bring her ’round;

and she, this
waiter, too,
holds on to what may
for hope it will change
when they find the right moment
to wander together in wonder of
the days left before them and the suns
and daughters yet to be made.

i wake and sit with these dreams, of day, of us
because i cannot fathom you at night
when i’m too alone to see the world in a darkened room
without your light to drag me
into fits of you again;

i wake and sit with these dreams, of day, and of us
and when we talk, they’re shattered
by your words of/to others and i’m just dumb
in front of your life, because i will always hide
behind you.

i wait
i sit
i wait and i sit with these intentions of a glory-filled
day with you to lead into a lifetime, the second life,
and you expect me to bring these thoughts to fruition
when you’re already decided on another and
others wait for their turn? why should i?
why should i be as they are and just give you
time until you’re done with the other numbers and mine’s been called?

as one crawls the sliver-white screen,
dressed in brown-tan-light best, their fingers/hands/
legs attach in point and follow lengthened nose,
a nostr-less wonder of hair-thin origin,
diddling way o’er rock brought-home to
human-hand painted shells,
one of which boasts, proudly,
to be of hulk, and other of cookie monster.

when i woke up this morning, i didn’t entirely expect to bother with this, but, now, i believe i may

i think about you daily, Baby,
and i’m sorry for having called you, “Baby.”

shed their lightings upon a brand new, same-ol’ day