

WAKE for Christ sake
As you can imagine. I’d rather not relieve myself in a dream. Then there’s all the work needs doing. You‘ll find me walking an I-beam. Just like the Beastie Boys "I like my sugar with coffee and cream" And though being my preferred state. My unconscious ain’t generally the money generating part of the team. Though I have woken up with some great idea‘s for a meme’s. And then made a conscious decision to get high. And then start my day with a full head of steam. Or is that smoke coming out of my ears?
Comical Corpse
Looks like I’m boxed in. The ghosts on my left and right are laughing. Is this what they call paranormal parking? How’d he die? Tragically he died boxing. He couldn't think outside of the box. No laughs jeez. This is a really dead crowd. I thought this mausoleum would be better than the shit hole I was in. Maybe I should go back to my roots? Hey so what’s the dating scene like for ghosts? Is it just a STDless plasma free for all or what? Up until the 80’s and then protection became a thing? Is monogamy still a thing? Or is Casper and Co. just ghosting naïve bed sheets on the reg? Are white sheets the only option? Stains must be a big deal. Hey that’s my time. You’ve been a great audience. Patrick Swayze & The Soul Survivor's are up next. See you on the dance floor. Finally no two left feet."
Wordy Rowdy piper
Words are so powerful? They‘ll put you in your place? By word of mouth or printed out. We’ve all been left red faced.
Be it anger or humility? Whichever the case? Reading further into things.
The plot thickens. As the same old storyline finds it’s pace.
Shouts draw attention. And heighten the tension. Whereas whispers peak our interests. I can’t help but think.
What the devil do they mention?
Some get their point across in the fewest words possible. Eat alphabet soup. For them no crosswords impossible.
I imagine I can’t think of something that hasn’t been said. In some language somewhere. Off the top of my head. When I dig down deep? I come up with nothing more than a good spot to play dead. At last a moment of silence. Until that earworm arrives I do dread.
Good & Groovy
I noticed you make note of me.
When we made eye contact.
I’d heard and felt an explosion internally.
I prayed any fondness you may have garnered for me didn’t fall victim to my initial look of fear.
The way your lip curled up as you feigned to look away.
Encourage me to seek allowance to bend your ear.
Your voice is now more familiar to me than my own.
I revel in its rhythm, pitch, and evocative tone.
We dig the same kind of groovy.
You know what it takes to move me.
The sound of your voice tickles me truly.
You drive my heart rate up. Then subdue me.
Every time we move apart.
Our hearts have come back around to meet in the middle.
If I hear from you tonight?
Over the ringing in my ears.
We must have both figured out the first part of this riddle.
Digging your Groove
Your kind of groovy
Knows what it takes to move me
Our talks tickle thee
Midnight Confessions
I’m on the fence. In the middle of the night. The air apparent feels tense. Who’s about to fight?
If I can’t tell one day from the next? Can I imagine how I might?
I can think on it while drinking the contents of my cup.
Why would I get between them? Unless to break them up.
So not the day in and day out kind a guy. I enjoy contrasting flavors. A midnight snack on something delightfully strange I’d savor. But when two find I’m sweet on both. They always sour. And one snack after the next always has beef with me. Leaving a bad taste in the mouth at the midnight hour.
Sure I could go without forgoing the junk food I’d surely devour. Waking and walking around at midnight in the garden of hood and evil. Am I free to smell the flowers? Yes but have no taste you coward!
Now sure the days are getting along better. And I fit into my favorite old sweaters. But I rarely sleep a wink after double sixes tick off a prick. Who’s guaranteed to start some shit. So I’ll have to beat that asshole off with a stick. Before it dawns on me. As my stomachs growls. I won’t get a lick of sleep again.
Dazed having not consumed. I can’t find even ground to level out my mood. I need forty winks to remove the kink in my attitude. Drive a man to drink, smoke, or worse. I could imagine if only I had the strength to think. Or twist up something. Light it up and puff the magic drag in. Rescuing Puff the tragic dead beat dragon from a distended aching stomach. While the appetite suppressor does it’s work. Helped out by some bread and hummus.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZ’s appease the dumbest midnight tease. Little-early
Literally (two fifty three am)
Why step in it?
I would tell him not to worry. Explain we need not change a thing. To continue trying to eat healthy. And to take note of all the ups and the downs. The education they’ll provide. Will make the fulfilled man you’ll become. You'll raise to healthy children that grow into well rounded resppectfull adults. Which is the only thing you’ll care about by the time your thirty years old. Your only fear will be harm befalling them. And you’ll have sheltered them safely from such. Well into the young adults lives.
One last thing. Altering any part of our history. Could erase their futures. As far as I know your moral compass would not allow you to act so recklessly selfish. Just in case I’m wrong I’ll threaten you with death by suicide assuredly. The positive aspects of life are the prize. The lessons you can learn experiencing the negative. Are no less of a treasure. So says the old. Wise? One.
Jumping in with both
Who fell first? How long will we quench each other’s thirst?
We jumped together imagining no end to this fall that hurts.
How will you bear the burden of fruitfulness?
I don’t know my place. Before I can find myself in one. I’m off to another. Even farther from the familiar faces. I’ve been running away from. Trying but failing to outpace.
Beautiful, peaceful, bountiful, places by all accounts. Which soon amounts to nothing when said breathtaking bastion I’m holed up in. Is found out. And a gaggle of gawking gasping sycophants converge upon the small patch of earth. I wrongly assumed would allow me to skirt the limelight. Is trampled under their immense weight.
No where is safe it seems. I apologize for the inevitably appalling traffic congested tourist riddled fates of those once pristine states. Though it wasn’t I who spoke a word of its grandeur to anyone of late.
So outfitted in the same generic get up as the rest of the Joe Schmoe Johnny come lately juggernauts. With my brim low and none the wiser I make my exodus. Unable to bear the auspicious stares and whispers of "There goes that miserable miser”
I climb the stairway to the helipad and fly off in my helicopter. Bound for a billion dollar yacht. That’s akin to living in a fish bowl esq. prison cell. I can’t stretch my legs or imagination out in. I won’t last more than a day or two surrounded by the crew and watery views. Before I come down with some second hand flu.
I foolishly locked myself in a sensory deprivation tank. In the pursuit of some peace and quiet once. Knowing full well. My world only gets louder when alone I close my eyes. And try and hear myself count sheep. Over the barrage of verbal assaults and requests for a moment of my time. Coming from the indomitable peanut gallery that has taken up residency in my mind.
Do other anthrvopist end up on terrorist watchlists? My investments and charitable contributions seemingly ruin every city. Once charming run down one horse towns. Where everybody knew everybody. Until this so called somebody came to town. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. How do they always pick run if the mill me out of a crowd?
Home is where the heart was crushed. And I’m in no hurry to go back there for another kick in the nuts. But I’d hate to ruin another pleasant place. Burdening it with those awful faces that follow me every good while it lasted place I land. And I fear death will be no different. Heaven or Hell are just havens of more of the same. It’s a shame if I do and if I don’t ship off to somewhere new. Pray I remain a stranger to you.
Why are two wired?
What could a phone voice be hiding?
I inquired within.
And my face sprouted a magnificent grin.
Blushing I was thinking. Now we’re do I begin?
My first forays into telecommunication I’d yet to grow any voice of my own. And just repeated what I was told.
My first recollection of speaking in such a manner my inflections differed? I was 13 years old. My phone voice tried its best to hide my visible fear and plethora of insecurities.
But untested as it was I kept the conversation short.
Introductions and niceties. Before offering to be her date. Left in limbo. That is a moment I’ve never learned not to hate. A yes goes a long way in bettering the mood. A No and you can’t excuse yourself quick enough. Trying to laugh off and hide how hard of hit your ego just had to take. Hang up quickly. God forbid you still find yourself in the friend zone. You hope they’ll never know how much it hurts. If you ever cared for them at all.
"If you’d like to make a call. Hide your hang ups and dial again"