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Falling In

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Falling

Initial warmth travelled

Between our new bodies

A prelude to a spark

Igniting a wick

Softening the wax, now

Circulating as reddened lava

Through my body.

We have lit a flicker

The pilot light of us

In

Your voice is a fire

And your skin’s temperature

A soft friction of sparks

Memorized and ablaze

Upon my spirit, as

My bones yield to

Become kindling

For the hearth

Of our impassioned house

Numbfounded

gKX3K

I don’t know about you, but

I have Loudness in my life

With a special ability

To pierce my eardrum,

As if he were born

With just the right frequency

To irritate only me!

 

Sometimes I want to

Stick a sock

In his throat and watch

Him writhe wrecked

Worry and panic

Over the inability to

Say a single meaningless

Verbal kernel.

But, most (all) the time

I smile, nod, shake my head

Up and down, up and down

In agreement with whatever

Schlokola is being shed.

 

His crass is carefully constructed

Dumbness, leaving me numbfounded

Why?

The shit ain’t the shit

Because the shit is full of crap!

The shit is stanky

The shit is smelling up the shack.

The shit is too….., well…. shitty!

Plus….

 

He’s a lying sack of shit.

If your mama heard him talk

She’d slap the shit right out of him.

 

OK, that’s enough shit for a poem

(That’s right this is a poem!

Did you think for one minute

I was going to change my ways?)

 

Let me tell you,

Loudmouth loves to linger on…

For more loudmouthing, repeating

Irritating long legends

That cannot be true unless

Loudmouth lived in multiple

Dimensions simultaneously

(I would feel sorry for those dimensions)
Or was alive during decades

before he was gurgling, happily

Sucking on a sugarcoated baby binky!

 

That’s it. That’s all. La La.

No need to repeat.

Sorry, if I was shouting in your ear.

 

Trail Equations

 

Portlandia
Portlandia

Equation 1

At the trailhead

The snow dampens my spirit

Melting upon contact, on

My shivering hand, longing

To shut myself up inside a bubble

To drive back to wine and heat

Quietude among city streets

Under blankets of roofs

Lawns cured to perfection

Equation 2

There is a woman in the parking lot

She stands near the trailhead

Backpack overstuffed, hitchhiking

As if she expected the snowfall to be

Warmer, not quite as cold

As these mountains produce.

In her eyes is a search

For unknown calmness

Equation 3

I’ve seen her pace before

A deer running from a fire

An escape, a desire, a plan

Anywhere is better than

Where she is from

This longing, I recognize

The colliding equations of

Guessing when to leave

And knowing when to stay

Equation 4

The clouds have come down

From the sky to embrace me

There is something inside me

The trail, the clouds, her eyes

None and all combined

I am from the place she thinks

Produces fire dowsed by spirit.

Surely she can see

I am beginning on the trail

Still new, still so many rocks

Equation 5

As I leave her standing alone

Cars pass along the old highway

I hear them echo

Any one of them would take

Her to my city

She looks not at me nor the road

I’m a bit hesitant to travel

Deeper upon the trail

As if I didn’t want to leave her

Waiting

Equation 6

I look at the ground as I hike.

I’m Pan with hooves

Prancing through the forest with

Padded toe and supported heal

Provided by shoes made

By people I’ve never met.

Should I go back and tell her

Lewis & Clark ate dogs,

and that the river she

Follows has lost its rapids?

How trails change under our feet?

Equation 7

Her search is a construction

Of a trail she has in her heart

She won’t find what she’s looking for

Merely by running away

She will create the new trail

That becomes her comfort

That spreads out from the city

I was born and raised in

Her trail becomes mine

And mine becomes hers

As all my ancestors and hers

Have done before.

Metaphysical Punch In The Quill

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Error is as important as experience

Tripping upon shoelaces

Twisting an ankle, pain pills

Moping in bed, with foot in air

Wishing you could kick anyone who

Has the ability to walk.

Your mind wanders, perception in flux

From the human instinct, boredom.

That stagnancy takes form

Shaping the four walls of your room

Into a perfect construct

Without mistakes, Shiny, washed of stains,

Devoid of memory and smells

Placed together by foundation

Frame, sheetrock and paint

And again from boredom or fever

(Another human attribute)

Your head travels through solidness

There resides another room

Adjacent to yours that is familiar

Windows are hung in the room with care

You look through one of the windows

Seeing yourself, outside, in a garden and realize

You are catching bees in your vegetables.

Sex, love and food are of the same thing

It as if you have come to your senses

If such a thing exists and recognize

You are a hunter of the roofless house

The ceiling depository of akasha

With cement in your shoes called the body

You must sow the ground

With your solidness

The feet and head

Work hands that dig

In all temperatures and textures

Forming cuts and bruises

Forcing dust between fingernails

An epiphany sprouts.

Magic and visions are gifts

To those who are chosen

You just didn’t realize everyone is chosen

Coupled with this new hybrid vegetable

Comes a ringing in your ears.

It’s your phone on the nightstand

You have a headache

As if you have just pulled your head

Out of a wall. Your foot throbs

You take a good look at the pills

Thinking the doctor made a mistake

Welcome to the sublime error

With memory of the garden still intact

You begin to write freely

The greatest poem ever written.

After it’s written, you read it

Big mistake

You blame the doctor