A quizzical creature bundled down. Quilted together, cut, from the same cloth - different scissors. Warm until tattered, somehow catching wind. A tired, musty dry line sagging and swaying. Moreover, the unreachable often still reach you. Crooked, but as usual, the only one in town.
Tag: scribbles
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A Most Patient Game
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Benched
The bench spoke to me. I waited so long: the daily walks, the nervous glances, - hoping. I made excuses, now thinking about it, to walk by. Deluding myself to believe. No, I do like walking. I do like that bench. Around and around that gnarly, blood-footed path. And then sat, “please leave“ it requested. An underwhelming introduction, but chills and flutters still. I walk on.
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Lunch Break Microcosm
Watch the ants wander Cherries soften into earth Scattered leaves garnish
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Sanctuary
Cradle in the arms of pine needle anemone Wash in the light of magnetic, bleach sand The biochemical hum of gray matter overlapping white Subtle lucidity of this square foot garden Find your sanctuary, Build your peace
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Honest Tea
Of all the colors counting my favorite one is you. I couldn't be more happy if all the snacks were blue. Statistically speaking - tongue tied - vomiting words, but all completely true.
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Forge
Go, go on
Go on comfort
Go on pain
Go on grip of something beautiful
Go, go on
Go on common
Go on fate
Go on hard fought and earned
Go, go on
Go on, love
Live life like a dying breed
Change - my first and last dying need
So go
Go, go on -
Gravitate
The first came from answer, a place you'd least expect. The last place on earth rest between your lips. A final question answered. Where every person lay. A journey finally ventured, dead silence caught, magnificent and utterly afraid. So rudely interrupted. Destined, from the middle to the end of a line. The story not faded, but truly refined - a switchback no one knows. The last mark of ink. An ‘x’ between your feet. Dig deeper still until you sink beneath.
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The Beat
So rumble on. Dignified specks across the cuffs. A stumbled run. Lives closer, standing back, than coming from. A room of champagne glasses painted darkly - beating a rogue drum. A gallery free of ivory canvas. Deaf fallen hum.
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Solstice
Over the shoulder into dawn - a bruised and battered sky. Past the fallen violet honey or so goes the cry. Through cedar boughs; over ice - a freshly minted leave. A turned corner, the smokehouse finds reprieve. A cliche for all ages, "what's done is done," and again never comes. A brow's glistening white beads.
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Echo Chamber
Low roads pierce heavy clouds,
down the barrel - face -
selling thoughts a penny.
Parlor tricks without gloat
heads nod - embrace -
betting men a plenty.
Facing facts wrinkles skin;
firmly falls grace,
failing sharper than any.
Meaning life falls in love,
pays slim straights -
the house tax a century.
Scribbles 'n Bits 