1 minute, 37 seconds of purple blossoms.

I want to pour this out
this something within
will someone help catch it
before it runs away screaming
down the
street.

I want to punch you with a cloud
repeatedly
every day
I want to write love on your face
with a marker
no erase
possible.

even if i am gone
the mark will stay
shouting to the world
the four winds
i am
loved.

Let us build bridges out of stone
with foundations of gold
resting on wisps
of vapor dreams
more stable than
the strongest
steel.

Who are you? I want to know
need
love to know.

If I wrote anything right now, I would be lying.
Off to precious slumber...

Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscope I wrote this in 5 minutes of history class last year for a writing thingy.

Life is a creep

Snail’s pace

Everything up close,

What it really is.

Time walks step in step,

But its tempo determined

By the master

So we walk

Heart in heart

Not hand in hand

What time we waste

For those we love

All things go, all things go

I don’t mind, we’ll rest easy justified

A fork in the road

Is no fork at all, my true blue friend.

The only difference I see in you now,

Is that you are the same as yesterday.

Taking the world by storm, but only on weekends,

Holiday hours, and fool’s time.

In between we live someone else’s life.

Life, simple elegance, extended haiku

A film, projected for all to see

A Horror? A Drama? A Comedy?

All share a script, but to each his own producer

On the same stage, but for a different play.

In Intermissions,

Then we are alive

To see a friend

Embrace this thing called life

No greater gift, no greater burden.

No longer does he exist on paper,

A poorly drawn cartoon, hastily colored in.

Turmoil is the center, felled barrier,

Of the Peace of a life recovered…discovered…uncovered.

2 minutes and 43 seconds of musing

Bugs
Countless little pests
Obstruct my vision
but really
am I one of the few that can see?
or am I wrong
I know i am selfish and petty
just as prone as them
to fall into the canyon
dark and deep
(the scenery is at the top)
can these small things hurt me
if i pretend they dont exist
ignorance
may be bliss
but I don't want bliss.
I want the pangs of life
the roughness of the gem
but really
I only want the kind of pain I want
does that make me a hypocrite?
an opportunist?
selfish?
yeah.
But really i feel my motivation is different
maybe i'm just justifying it
acquitting the murderer...
but is that so wrong?
I don't know.
Maybe I'm lying to myself.
I lied about the title...
it was 2 minutes and 44 seconds.

Someone please, show me that I am still alive.

The rain has stopped, and a new world is around me.
B
R
E
A
T
H
E it in. i wish i could go to sleep wrapped in its scent.

5 minutes after the last post, the rain began to patter the roof of my house. I thought of my jeep, in the driveway with the windows cracked, but i'm sure it will survive.
Rain is an amazing thing, really. Some hate it, some love it, but it always falls evenly, on everyone.
theres something more to it too, than just drops of water, churned out by angry, or sad, clouds. cleansing, washing away, life, renewal...the symbolism could be cut with a knife. but then again, its just stupid rain. or is it?
It is an opportunity to make an excellent cup of tea.
No matter how hard i wave my arms in an attempt to make it go away, the rain will stay, an imposing yet peaceful presence in the night. It's a lot bigger and more significant than me, and for a moment I am shaken out of my chronic selfishness.
The bricks are cold upon my feet as I walk out front for a moment...the rain laps down my face, as I have temporarily imposed myself on precipitation's kingdom. Such pity for the small plants struggling to grow between the bricks...their fate should have been Round-Up, but they're not hurting anyone. Struggle for survival so often is independent and aloof.

There is nothing more frustrating than a world of thought that refuses to carry itself into expression, like a hose with a kink in it. or something.

Onward! into mindless grinding business
floating dreadfully onward
to what? what can it say for itself
when all is said and done?
are emotions here forced?
contrived enjoyment?
not spontaneous,
more "should"s
instead of "do"s or "is"s.
damn the oppressive plasticities
the unseen specter
driving towards insanity.
what if i am one?

You
Say
You
Want
To.
Why
Can't
You
Just
Do
It.