Vacant Orbs
just a prisoner
in this body of flesh
hearing the comings and goings
of others
busy tidying…
having had enough.
Now,
just sitting
staring
into nothing
A desert of empathy
not a cloud of kindness.
My last recollections
of humanity
evaporate
until
bleached bones
make people remember…
a kind word
lets it rain
a thoughtful action
grows a harvest.
Cyclone Swans
fly through the crumbling canyon
like F-16s
Honking, to the weary traveler
beneath them
He looks up
at the wrong moment
SPLAT
and the stink is subtle
Cultures consider it good luck
and the traveler prays for it
on his weary walk
invisible years
stretch before him
and now he knows his nature
if he writes more
he can have a better life.
I confess
that there are many moments
I should enjoy
but mostly
I just want to get back to myself
Like when my girlfriend sent me a text message asking…
“Why haven’t you invited me over? It’s been such a long time.”
She left me this voicemail that was full of anger and disappointment
like I was supposed to read her mind
I even invited her for a run
two days before
but she didn’t want to go and said…
“I guess you don’t want to do anything but run.”
“Oh no, that’s not true. You can come over.”
I was locked in
locked in to play the ‘good guy’
I don’t know if I’ve examined my feelings
thoroughly
when it comes to relationships
but they never add up
there is no point in trying
All I know is
when the days are beautiful
I don’t want a woman to come over to my dim apartment
with the sink clogged full of rotting Chinese food
I want to walk under blue skies, budding trees, air so fresh and warm, it feels like I can swim in it
So, I had 60 minutes to clean
and the place was pristine when she knocked
She just stood there
glowing
and I said
“Come on in.”
It was her reconnaissance mission
She wanted to see if I was still worth dating
“I’ve got some steak and asparagus I can cook,” I said.
“Alright.” Her innocent, cherubic face was looking at my library
“You have a lot of old books. Some of them are unusual.”
I knew she was trying to see into my personality
“A Desire to Kill: The Unabomber?” She asked.
It was beautiful outside and I was cooking two steaks, hoping the fire alarms wouldn’t go off.
“These stories are filthy,” she said.
“Oh, that’s Bukowski. A total genius. Wisdom comes from the strangest places.”
“You shouldn’t be reading this stuff,” she said.
I boiled the asparagus. It was getting limp, dissolving, and breaking apart.
Whenever I cook for myself, my food turns out. Maybe it’s because I don’t care.
She kept looking at me with new eyes. She was seeing me differently, already. I was one of those guys she thought she knew and now she was trying to figure me out, again.
“Can I use your restroom?” She asked.
“Sure,” I said.
She walked inside and I could hear her milling about. I had to get some groceries from my car. When I came back in, she looked tense. “You don’t have a hand towel in your bathroom.”
“Oh, I just use this one.” I tossed it to her and her opinion of me sank, again.
“Do you want to watch the movie now?” She asked. It was the Scarlet Pimpernel. Not a bad choice, but the hero acted like a woman to fool his pursuers. It was good for ten minutes and then I got bored.
I touched her leg and her eyes got really big. I was going to kiss her and I did. It tasted sweet and then it was over. We finished the movie.
“Well… that’s the end of that,” I said. “Time for you to go home.”
“Already?” She asked.
“Oh yes, I have lots of work to do,” I lied.
She gave me a bear hug and left. And I felt the most wonderful relief. Freedom. I walked outside, under the leaves and bathed in the sun. I got on my bicycle and rode East, into the cold wilderness of my own reality.
She asked me out on a few dates after that, but in time she dropped me like a rock, and I fell to the bottom of the river with all the other rocks, right where I belong. The sound is different down here. Peaceful. Murky. And a place nobody visits. Sometimes the fish swim by and I stay still, very still, listening to the symphony of sounds, and feeling the shifting sands of time.
These Moments Matter
when we put our money down
and gamble
for things that can’t be seen
It is the explorer
who dares to go one more mile
when his crew threatens mutiny
or the barbarian
who faces arrogant empires
reliant on their technology
The warrior’s mind
is his weapon
changing to strength
in his weakness
It can’t be quantified
though, many have tried
His spirit moves from somewhere
speaking poetry
to a delusional ego
willing to fight incredible odds
without seeing the numbers
Endurance
sets men apart
How far will they go?
the edge must be explored
and boldness becomes their genius
unless they fall
So, trust in yourself
but also recognize…
Success is the Measure of Men.
If you can move one mile faster
climb one mountain taller
stay honest
and become your dream
today
No whirlpool can hold you
Undercurrents change
Moving you out to sea
Violent winds must be held
with misunderstood sails
Know your truth
and act on it
belief is the remedy for change
float in circles
if you need to
and stay alive
until breaking waves take you to paradise island
sun
shade
and strange music
Mystic landscapes
where the air is thin
and the sand vanishes
Stand for a moment
where the day cannot go
and then descend to normalcy
This life is an expression of your intelligence.
Eggs in the morning
blue skies after months of rain
3 friends want to talk
after I haven’t talked to anyone
in weeks
this is how it goes
endurance
the moments in between
when I feel like myself
I know it’s not victories that do it
but the victories help
So often, it’s…
“What do you have?”
“What do I have?”
“I guess I’m doing all right.”
People get talked about
like they’re far off
but nobody gets immortalized
it doesn’t matter
I’m always looking for something that doesn’t make sense
Most people look at what doesn’t add up, “as crazy”
“She’s not playing with a full deck.”
if they get closer
they might find,
she always wins.
Maybe there isn’t an undercurrent of intrigue
but I like to think so
people aren’t what they seem
places are more than solid wood
An old man with crocodile toes smokes on his boat
drinking wine
and typing
Is he mad
if he talks to himself
and nobody else listens
He is an amphibian
a creature that rests in the sun
He lives in a way
nobody else can
and he does it so well
misery is foreign to him
although, many see him as half-a-step away from someplace
they never want to be
and they will never know him
or his way of being.
There is beauty in a black night
to feel alone and not be lonely
to love what is hidden
and not need to find it
mystery
and imagination
working on reality
in the dark
red lights
green lights
lights with different meaning
walking
under electric messages
telephone wires
speaking love
selling nonsense
shouting hate
or whispering prayers
above the sound of my feet.
Then I stand still
And the night is really beautiful
Every sound has stopped.
Charles catalogued his packages and letters. The job was only supposed to last over the holidays, but somehow the post office convinced him to keep working.
“Holy Hell,” He said. “Zone 9? I’ll be delivering to drunks, pimps, and fools. Talk about a test of my endurance.” He took a swallow of whiskey from his hip flask. Breaking the rules and not getting caught might be the meaning of life.
He drove up the narrow street and a kid rode towards him on a bicycle. “He wants to play chicken, does he?” Charles gunned the engine. “Real lessons are learned the hard way.” The kid jumped out a-the-way between two cars and landed on the hood.
“How’s my driving?” Charles cackled. There were noon ladies standing outside their houses waiting for his mail. He felt his package and grunted, but he still preferred the German Shepherds that bit him in the ass.
“Mail man, you’re late. You got any mail for me?”
“Lady, just give me a second. I’ve got like a thousand packages to deliver in the next couple hours. Wait… nope, I don’t have one for you.”
“I know it’s in there; give me my mail.” She reached for his bag.
“Lady, if you steal the mail, it’s a federal offense.”
“My sister always mails me every Thursday. It’s overdue!” She reached for his bag.
“Get away from the government’s mail!”
“Or what? What-a-ya gonna do?”
“I’ll do this…” Charles took three drinks from his whiskey flask.”
“You drunken fool. Get out a here.”
Charles took his cue and left the street, he left the neighborhood; he left the city, the state. He ran out of gas.
The occasional car saw the old mail carrier walking alongside the road.
“They deliver packages this far out, in the desert?” A boy asked his dad.
“Apparently so, son. Whether rain, or sleet, or snow, the mail is delivered where it needs to go.”
Charles walked into the sunset. He died happy; away from city lights, and the people beneath them.
THE END
Twisted Wires
and
Black Bridges
Trying to make sense of it all
Sunrise Surprises
and Sunset Deaths
For the Ages
In our memory
we need to be remembered
There is uncomfortable knowing
without any answers
as we go through traffic
hearing
radio noise
There is life inside
confusing energy
waiting to get out
I grab my golf clubs
or push my bicycle
beyond limits
In the routine
I resist the impulse
to scream
Until I can’t anymore
What happened to dreams?
They’re so far away
Real
In my mind’s eye
it was only yesterday
but today…
they are light years away.
Gregson stared at the flames with a sense of foreboding, but Lafayette’s dream kept echoing inside his head.
“Only one man survives—he’s fat with a receding hairline.” He was the last man standing; did that mean he would survive?”
The chief stared into his eyes. There is only one last task for you to do before you become our god.”
“And what is that?” Gregson asked.
“You must beat the village shaman in our pizza eating contest.”
“You get pizza down here?
“Air dropped!”
Gregson looked at the tower of Pizza Hut boxes and suddenly his hunger returned. He gazed at the village shaman, who was fat with a receding hairline.
“It’s not over til it’s over,” Gregson said.
“You got that right!”
“1…2…3…EAT!”
Gregson tasted the cheese and he was his old self again. One pizza disappeared and then another. The shaman couldn’t continue. And Gregson reach for the last slice and swallowed it whole.
“Hail our god!”
That’s all good and well, but I do need to get home. Do any of you know how to get there.”
The chief handed Gregson his cell phone. “Call helicopter.”
“What?” Gregson said. “I thought you people were untouched by human kind.”
“Who are you calling, ‘you people.'”
“What?” Gregson said.
THE END
Just Poetry 