i'm fine

echoes

seemingly forever

in the canyons

the words seep into the rocks

because no ears

open to listen

shaking 

ever so slightly 

it's four a.m.

and cold outside 

so rise

slowly

as though dipping your toe

in the pool

as from the blanket

the warm blue robe trails

leaving 

a cocoon 

of warmth

for you

mornings are difficult

dry mouth

cracking lips

red eyes

running on a lack of sleep

and i would prefer

if i did not have to wake

and deal

with everyday life

shaking fingers

assemble an outfit

wishing

for the comfort

of warmth

drowsy

sunshine

and the scent

of baby powder

and freshly washed sheets

flip over my long tangled hair

and hook the bra

search for a pair of warm pants

a uniform shirt

check if i have everything i need

walk out

my sanctuary 

breakfast sizzles

in the kitchen

as plates clank

so i partake

of the feast laid out before me

although

i am not yet hungry

survival instincts 

i suppose

somehow

i have kept moving

my will

has not yet weakened

to the point of death

yet i still

would rather

be asleep

forever

yet another day has begun

why

Out of control

No other advice

A.I. supreme

Actual price

Corporates are entities

On their own

Gorging growth and profit

Without peoples scorn

Smartphones are an extension

Off the New Self

Provide everything

No other help

Too late to change

Nanorobots on the way

Life as we know it

Another day.                                     James P Kinsella ©

Between these

      Four walls

The lights dim as

   I shout

I pace and I crawl

      I bleed out in doubt

There’s pages unseen

       And pages unknown

A book that is written

    Yet not fully shown

I really don’t know

     How to calm

         The fuck down

Head in the clouds

Feet reaching

       For ground

A trial by fire

    A flame

       For the masses

As the court

     Of your sire

Is flicking

     The matches

They pull on the strings

       Your arm raises up

They pour and

       Serve the drink

You reach for the cup

Eyes blinking with

       Anxiety

Enough is enough

     To Hell with

       Sobriety

This bullshit is rough

I break down

     And rebuild

          As you take

              What you want

Payroll locked and sealed

     All my hard work

You haunt

   The systems all

        Wrong

And fuckin deranged

And seems

   So far gone

To believe in

   A change

You blow on

     Your trumpet

Yes these words are true

      I will just say fuck it

And not bow

     To you

Not an elephant

      Nor a donkey

They’re all pigs

    With a crump

My only hope

     Is America can

        Depend

              On a Trump

Daniel

      Jacob

            Dabney

And

  My

     Fucked

        Up

          Mind

             November

                  2016

It was my wife’s birthday this week. I sent her flowers. Where she works. She says she was surprised. I hope so.

Here’s how the florist described the arrangement: “Beautiful blooms such as blue hydrangea, crème roses, white lilies and alstroemeria along with yellow and white chrysanthemums, eucalyptus, limonium and more are beautifully arranged in a dazzling cobalt blue vase.”

I don’t even understand what most of that means, though I did get a few words: Blue, white, and yellow. (Those are colors, right?)

Let’s move on . . .

Sending Jo-Lynn flowers was no great shakes. That’s what people do for people they love. Except I never really understood the idea of killing something beautiful in nature to show somebody else that you love them. Nope. No entiendo. Je ne comprends pas. Ich verstehe nicht.

No matter. Over the past 41 years of marriage—yes, we’ve been married that long—I've come to understand that my wife (partner, companion, friend, lover, mother of my children) liked flowers. I had two choices: Ignore the obvious or embrace it. Guess what I did . . .

Is there a life lesson here? Maybe, “Yes.” Maybe, “No.”

In addition to celebrating her birthday with flowers, my wife and I  went out for dinner and a movie: “Florence Foster Jenkins,” starring Meryl Streep. Heartbreaker of a film. Go see it. Streep is bound to be nominated for another Oscar.

Why do I mention the movie?

Because I picked it, though it’s not the kind of flick I’d typically go see. Guess who I thought might like it? Yup. My Honey Pie. And the restaurant? Has a nice prime rib. Her favorite. (Me? I had burger and fries. Yes, I’m “That guy.”)

This little write-up may not sound profound. Or lovey-dovey. Or squishy-wishy. But, hey. It’s practical. When we first got married, my wife and I were two little fishies swimming in the same sea, but each singin’ our own song and dreamin’ our own dream. Now? We’re   like a seasoned pair of dancers, anticipating each other’s move. Or a top-rate QB-WR combo, like Ben Roethlisberger and Antonio Brown. (“Go Steelers!”)

One more thing. (There’s always one more thing with me, isn’t there?) We had Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 read out loud at our wedding:

“Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour.

For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up.

Again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone?

And if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken.”

Did that make a difference?

You tell me . . .