Rarely viewed as the villain

Until, of course, the victims

realize it really is

Time gives us an opportunity

try everything

once

Time gives us the chance to

succeed

as often as we want

So, how is Time the villain?

Time is insidious

Gradually eroding

Our body

Our mind

Our hopes and dreams

Time permits a young mind

To explore the infinite

Before realizing he does not have the infinite

Time displays a myriad of choices

Then slowly closes each of them

Before we know they were even possible

Time is the giver of what we do not take

Time is the choice we do not choose

Time is the laughter we hear when we fail

So we hope to warn others

About what Time did to us

But they fail to listen as we failed to listen

Time then gives up on us

As we gave up on it

Once becomes once more

Not with the old man

But with his grandson

All we can do is watch the inevitable

Since Time cannot fail

That is its sole weakness

Time can never evolve

Ironically captured in its own loop

Time repeats ad infinitum

Garnering no accolades in the process

We, on the other hand

Achieve and fail

remembering both

Time presents as an ally

Pitied by the wiser mind

Feared by the man on the cusp of life

We can beat Time at its own game

Or die trying

I like my odds in this fight

that love will take you by surprise

but they are wrong.

you took me by surprise,

or you would have if not for

the fact that you knew

not to rush it

to take our time

and it forced us to evolve

bit by bit together

so no, you did not

surprise me

because I have seen you

from the start

and you have known me

slowly, and deeply

and to know that

i love you

is no surprise to me -

none at all.

because you made sure

from the start

that there would be

no surprises.

and that is

the best part of all.

Desire

The ache of wanting

Your face on every woman I see

My love for you grows

It pulses in my chest

As the waves pound the shore

I need you more than I can say

Yet I try to everyday

My soul longs to be with yours

When our bodies embrace

Joined together

In the rhythm of love and passion

Perfectly synchronized

Breathing each other’s breath

Knowing glances

We achieve the ultimate pleasure

An orgasm consumed by love

Becoming as one

We are complete

Our fate has been met

She knew,

she can pretend that she didn't,

but she knew.

I had talked with her,

others have talked to her,

and she still did it.

Out of anger,

she did it.

And she knew how much it would hurt me,

how much it would make me feel like shit.

And she did it anyways.

So no,

I don't feel sorry

that things didn't go her way.

This is exactly the outcome that she knew was going to happen.

She chose this,

not me

and now we are fractured.

And I don't have the energy to put us back together anymore.

Who or what are we waiting for

A normalcy bias

Or Godot?

There’s ominous signs

Plenty of cognitive dissonance

What are we hesitant about?

Something tangible

Or routine illusion?

Perhaps we suffer the

Impenetrability of ignorance

Can we still blame Godot?

Could it be instigated by the

Intellectual vulgarity of

Copious over analysis?

So many questions

With far too few answers

I guess we’ll just need to

Keep waiting for Godot

We'll blame the moon for the holding

on, to the waning, that makes our gaunt

shadows fill with all of lassitude...

Till we cower together in the dark

of the new...

howl, to never own the lune, a stake

I'd claim, and it will possess you, too

waxing highlights on our cheeks, manic

with a shine, each time it passes us by

Lucy's medicine cabinet was stocked almost completely with herbal remedies and handmade soaps from her mother's farm. My bottle of Ibuprofen on the shelf beside a tin of homemade dandelion lip balm looked out of place. I took it out.

With the small bottle of pills in hand I decided to try the kitchen. But, of course, among her jars of granola, dried fruits, and unlabeled containers of various aromatic, varicolored powders, it stuck out even more. I don't think she'd care where I left it so long as it wasn't sitting out on her countertops, but I just couldn't sit it down next to her matcha powder in its pretty Mason jar with a pink cloth between the ring and the lid.

She cleared out a drawer in one of her nightstands, a small wicker basket in its tropical-feeling bedroom. Well, she almost cleared it all out. There were a few rings left in the bottom: gold bands, one with an opal in the center. Probably some that she made. I would often catch her at her little refurbished coffee table sitting cross legged on the hand-tied rug with a pair of needle nose pliers winding wire into an earring.

I dropped the Ibuprofen in the container along with the socks and toothbrush from the plastic Walmart bag in my left hand. I set the rings on her dresser.

Between the gaps in the wicker, I could see the glaringly white bottle of Ibuprofen and the neon green of my toothbrush. I balled up the plastic bag and shoved it in my pocket.

Lucy didn't like plastic. She was too afraid of the turtles dying or something. She didn't eat meat because, she'd say, if she wouldn't eat my pet cat, who was hissing from his carrier in the kitchen, she's not going to eat a cow. She exercises and does yoga every day, but she won't get a gym membership because their carbon footprints are too big and the guys at the front desk only have plastic cards to give out.

I like Lucy. I might grow to love her, but sometimes I wonder if it would be worth the work. She says she doesn't mind if I order a steak, but I can't do it around her. I hide my plastic packaging and pretend I don't need Ibuprofen and Tums to stave off my headaches and indigestion, using her herbal remedies daily and acting like they've cured me. She's too sweet to say no to and too gentle to hurt her feelings. Honesty is hardest with the people who are kindest.

I take my Ibuprofen out of the wicker basket.

Blooms and buds dripping with dew

Colors of pink, yellow, and blue

Swaying softly in the morning’s breeze

Life shudders within the still green leaves

A butterfly lands softly upon a silken petal

Floating, until finding a place to settle

Drinking in the nectar and ambrosia

A fine course of tea a-la Rosa

As it flits away with the suns retreating rays

The flowers remain, the field is where they stay.

Thus begins

this peyote journey

flowing down the

river of consciousness

with kaleidoscopic thoughts

in a hallucinatory fire

where vague ideas

burn like wax candles

as effulgent imagery

reflects in the mirror

of the mental canvas

creating surreal lucidity

so the mind is clear

and the soul begins to

enjoy transitory madness