he stands on the edge of the triangular shaped divide
where the road branches off into two
both going in the same direction
uptown
one to east side and one to the west
leaning forward
torward the oncoming traffic
he holds a weathered book in his hands
his breath makes strange shapes in the air
clouds
that hover for a moment
before being swooshed away by the hordes of cars flying by
there is no anger
serenity on a freezing concrete
and palpable belief
he paces back and forth
eyes shut tight
then wide open
the shut tight again

i'm transfixed
i wish it were simply
fixed

the machine

and when i only speak so that you can answer
i know that i love you more than i could ever imagine
more than i could hope to express
only to clench my fists and make a guttural sound
something animal
something primal
something
bordering on painful

it began with a single heartbeat
i wish i could say i knew
but sitting there
then
i knew that i didnt
know

a friday 55 - my first ever. be gentle.

Climbing out
Crawling
Grit
Scraping
Tears
Moist
Adjusting
Twitching
Still
Spent
Standing
Wobbly
Sniffing
Touching
Precipice
Steady
Steady
Steady
No pathos
No quarter
Quite Suddenly
Rising
Filling
Flowing
Out
And over
Forcefully
Past
Tremendous

Eyes
Clouds
Mist covered valley
Stars
Sand
Open
Knowing
Together
Broken
Chords
Broken
Harmonies
Broken wings
Dragging
Tears
Black
Ebbing
Free

blindness

i would say
no you cant
or
no you wont
or
no you wouldnt
or something like that
when you see the blackness
and the need
and the twisted black and silver wreckage
and you'll still say
you would

but you haven't seen

occam's razor

how many throats has it cut ?
how many wrists has it slit ?

time

your time
was another time
and now, another's time
and it's all taken
now
but you seem happy
to be possessed
so
what have i to say
this is your choice