Machinations

Though at first with hesitation,
Recent history whispering said,
"Live, fear abandoned."
Not the words, I thought or felt.

You know some things are left uncertain.
And, good that god made it so,
For, uncertainty is the soul of this titillation,
Renewed vigor the fruit it bears.

I only know hope for love,
All other things too quickly come to pass.
And, we the objects of Cupid's machinations,
We dance our fools dance til he says we're done.

Helium Balloon

There was a time when everything I wrote
let out an emotion I had not expressed before.
There was relief, a feeling of sending off
a helium balloon into the sky like some
low-tech Voyager satellite out of the solar system.

Have emotions grown heavier?  I don't know.
But, it feels like nothing I write takes the weight off.
I want to write an opus, I want to free the entire
inner world that I can only give you glimpses of.

I think I see a future where I have changed the world.
I think I see that opus I want to write outside of me,
and that has changed me more than it has changed the world.

Soon enough, we will know.  The future is not far.

Ricochet

it was beautiful
not like you
but maybe your mother
would understand

and you changed it.
I lost it somewhere
between stolen
puffs on your cigarette

make up a new name
just the sort so you
never stay  the same
like the zombies
make you their king

and it's hurting like you
never thought it would hurt
when you're firing a gun
the bullets always ricochet

I guess you didn't know
not to cut your hair
we're all watching the weight
of the world you can't seem to bare

I'm not out to get or kill you
not yet, but eventually they'll
come and take more than your car away.

All These Houses

All these houses, row upon row upon row.
Places, barely suburban, where people,
and all those strange little things they own,
sleep and, eat, and pee, and LIVE.

All these houses, row upon row upon row.
They are like mouse traps, once you're in
you're in for life, I feel like maybe we are
only the homes we inhabit.  I wonder.

Old Love (Shores)

The flotsam of old love
washed upon the shores
of my heart.  Strange,
that memories do not drown
after all the years they
sit there in the water
of my memory, my soul.

Some reason comes,
I suppose, to distract,
and I touch the something
that sends chills.
It must be some part of me
that is now his.
To reclaim, or let sit there?

I work near.
I live near.
He doesn't even know.
Unbound by the light years
between any two hearts.
Closer than I shall ever tell.