Sleeping with the television on

Did I sleep?
I remember moments
when colors flew by
kaleidoscope
and merry-go-round
and you–-smiling
that must have been a dream

our fingers
formed a web between us
and you lifted your hand
to
brush hair off my forehead–-
shivering with the notion
of one hundred nights

I trampled you
and you asked for more
assumptions. predictions. affirmations.
and a storm
of peppermint schnapps
the tip of your tongue
lazy–
saying–
come on

each day
a new destination
to reach that sunset
with you still seeing me–-
and I was drawing you
into every waking hour
the way I saw you

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Monday Random on Tuesday: time

  • In catch-up mode, I can do no less than to write a Monday post and be humble about it, rather than let it go another week yet
  • I know that would bother me more
  • I still must write a #CinemaShame post that was due December 31, so I am actually feeling pretty good about myself for this one!
  • I feel fine in the sense that I am stressed as all get out, but the sun is out and man, if I can’t springboard off that and the 60F+ temps today, I’m useless!

Continue reading “Monday Random on Tuesday: time”

I got behind
and catching up
is something like
grape stomping
in a swamp
getting so stuck in the
sweet muck
and no one sees it
so does it really happen
the wineclaydirt slurry
bogged. left. carnival of mud.

three darts for a dollar

must be Friday again
there’s your ghost
sitting in the corner
telling jokes

inspired by waves and sand
and three seasons of greenery
that lie to us
that winter will not come

go ahead, pile it on
but it won’t do no good
your charming smile
all the poses
dusty shoes tell tales

all our Fridays memories
we are in too deep
the pleasing pints of new
we have swept into a pile
to be compacted
into a sterile cube

let’s have a smoke on it
and drink another down
to the good times we can’t have back

let’s have a smoke on it
and drink another down
to the good times we can’t have back

and won’t try
and won’t buy
another three chances

in a stew

 

will you make me stop
thinking about you
when sleep finally arrives–
waiting out all of our seasons
for the sake
of bitter herbs in the soup

the bitter
with the sweet and savoury
is always there
not this one-dimensional
two-headed
Frankenstein monster
you imagine us to be

yesterday was a game
will you take a chance
and paint your dreams
on a griddle of hotcakes
with syrupy regret
that makes you sick
and leaves you wet

shouldn’t keep
hunting for the hunter
running after our destroyer
one step ahead
and two back
for no good reason
except that it feels right
to stroke the dark places

if no one sees
who does it hurt
when we re-configure our
boundaries
some given
others drawn
with the same old piece of chalk
nearly used up

2 days, no sleep

pile_of_pillows

I tore up my fingers on that ring
grasping at what was not mine–
but I stole it–because it was his
and I wanted her not to have it

The late night snacking takes a toll
a lack of sleep notwithstanding
the gremlins that come out only at night
have found a niche under my skin
painful and soothing all at once

Over-thinking also has its price
this bat and ball are nothing to me now
I never did take to diamonds that well
but one time, there was an emerald
that caught my eye

I would have sold all I had for it
until I owned only that and none else
but that won’t feed anyone
and it won’t transport, or shower;
what once were needs are now desires

The tree top seemed out of reach
until waking up to fog I remembered
we must bend and stretch, and
no one gets a free ride
of government cheese for always

but with a little perseverance
I could have every dream fulfilled
if I only dream of mediocrity
and if I am not that hungry

When I was queen

 

snow tree under light

 

 

in and out of the car
snow in my hair
icy wind
biting my skin

 

 

these are the days
that wake me up
and remind me that
I am alive

 

 

skin tingling
an old voice in my head
above me the street lamps pop on
the snow turning to sleet
and I turn on the windshield wipers

 

-I felt like a Queen then-

 

but I turn off the voice
listening to the wipers
instead
and the snow hitting the car

 

 

Vinegar waltz

We are kept
contained in all our tsunami’s
we rise, still in a pickle
treading, if not swimming
despite the blessings
bestowed day upon day
dreams may sour
the lip of the jar, closer
but still up above, beyond
while we wait for the next
twirling, whirling pool
sometimes leaving us
dizzy and sick
and other days
we assume the position
and dance

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