abandoned garage over on River road.
In a left alone box…I keep the sacred thoughts.
In an upholstered chair from 1972, all velour and static, covered in snow.
That is where make-believe takes a seat.
It is where poetry goes.
Around about, midday, most days, when the sun quenches the sky.
I take time out to visit a graveyard Sage made of stone and bone.
To amend the playful wrongs…make them…right.
Everyday…a fortunate spirit on an infinite flight.
she wants more, more, more
i wonder why
is it to control the secrets she wishes to hide
when i delve into this hidden world.
i feel, as though, an accomplice
everything and all, in the here and now
nonetheless, i am a welcomed guest
and, she and her secrets are freed somehow
Someday, I do not know when.
Illusions spawned from delusions.
Will spill from a cup-shaped cloud in the sky
Will no longer,
be antagonizing and lacking choices.
Only cloudy with a chance of rain.
Misfits will feel free to tell each other…their secrets.
And, the wilderness of society will no longer address nonconformity…with disrespect.
We’ve all got are stories.
So, pray-tell, what is that blank stare…as you share?
As you glare…?
Leering about…sleeping before the lights went out?
Would you have said, something different?
If you saw her again?
Did you say,
if only he looked back…?
If only we remained friends?
Were we not a family of visitors in that after life…?
Denoting moments of, remember when?
I had a vision last night.
It started with us in a tranquil sea of daisies.
And, with due course,
with no notices around,
flashes of a city street…
Children playing tag in and about the bad side of town.
Malingerers with beer bodies…
Searching for their soul’s…sound.
But of course,
the future has always played us the same way.
My vision left as quickly as, a day.
Never knowing what to say.
Watching the past roll us away.