the details are lost in the slouch of back and twist of words, still in love, lusting for the motion of passed movements, a thankless endeavor, optimal, looping feedback that extends from here to

there, an everywhere experience that concludes in forgetfulness, the wash is in, separate but equal......

 an effort everlasting in effect, consequences flowing farther afield than the foresight would have, this is to be the first of many and to last more than a few minutes, hope filled and full belly withstanding,

 the cries are heard out of doors, one can only guess what happens, happenings, happenstance to which witness is bore, duty calls, imagination, upstart, upstanding, raised right, left to the whims of fanciful

flight, running represents rebellion of the kinder impulses, should the mirror ever talk whilst listening true fruit would follow............

 standing under six months of learned latitude, a sideways moving sidewalk, ten years and two days, and dare it be said, two weeks, this life laced up, holes from past lives lived in conflict, a desire for fame

fortune and none of the above, the destiny of man unresolved, woman, person, an objectifying look at what is no more than a moment,  definition in motion, never to pinpoint, for there is no point, give back or take back................

skipstep.......

 concocted from pure heresy, truancy of imagination, feeling human in room full of strangers, more so than houses of friends, strict baseline of peaceful instinct, a useful year of nothing learned but more

 forgotten lessons hard won in the passed, past, whittle at the sticks of humor and let rip the knife,  donkey braying softly for attention, to detail, brain calling for escape, the two shall meet on a dark

street, the symbols of yore, your symbols, eisigesis, semantics, symbiotic, slash and burn........

two days.......

sideways  to the left, frustration and unhappiness, looking for the blame, ending in a culdesac mirror image of myself, the pieces scattered and toppled over, although there is a desire for abstraction, the

 fear is clear, normalcy, nemisis, niceties, nationalism, the experience does not lie, and my identity beckons, choices made and lacking any  clarity, a baby struggles to sit up, i struggle with lying down......

wanderlust........

thoughts consume another location, other than, other then, now, hard working time spent on diligent escape plans, the two sides bicker, wrestle, moan, there used to be, nostalgia canceling now, but it

 works the other way too, commodity of time spent like water, with regret soon to follow, sickness invades an otherwise safe house, running rampant, installing an appreciation of the first breath of the

morning, time was that ability sat somewhere between execution and name dropping, now and then, the push and pull of the everyday, the social and the fabric, what is and what could have been..........

the action of inaction........

 the meantime streaked with pangs of guilty privilege and wasted moments, the soul sucking feeling of unproductive thoughts, eye burns, weariness, the time honored tradition of can be done, will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven, the chapel once aflame now undecided, election year dramatics, irrelevant but timely, a steady but slow hand could win the day with tiresome movements and kind words, these here laurels need no more weight...............

quotient.......

 selected memories curated solely for the sake of gratification, burnt laughter, babies cry, one more attempt to make it right, get it right, on time for nothing more than appropriation, satisfied that there

 could be more than vision allows, thankful more or less, the past, passed, follows age old wisdom,

into the dark carpeted safety, there is no logical explanation for the comfort of sterility...........

given the time.........

 scanning the horizon for quick glimpses of shining distraction, a pause in the monotone system, this

 day making up the past, present, and future tenses, a slight shift, a broad tightening, stretching the ends,

 leaves singing a rusty song to the coming water, the last gasp of heat leaving pink and moon to figure

 it out, the asking is tiring and anonymous, with response waiting in the wings................

not funny at all..........

the unknown unaware, profile of summer sun and shadows on the ground, there is too much dust and not enough time.............

new year, or time has slipped away.........

a long time has passed, much has happened, many words have been said, many actions regrettable, tired feet give way to aching arms, the smile unwavering..............

breathe out...............

it comes to a slow screeching halt amongst the ashes of the aforementioned storm, words are not fit, lashed to a failing body, although able, a reckoning of the slow failing of health and wealth as crutches, ease of movement was once a drug worth fighting for, now could easily
be drifting out with the tide, out of the illusion of control, as if there ever was such a grip, luck, more like lust, pacing the planks watching the frost fade into water into the fog coating this last wintry day of 2011, thankful for all that is here and all that is to come and all that has been, the new year can bring promise of new love, new life, new way of living, a shrugging off of the tattered identities that fit so comfortably, but hinder growth, that is all that i could wish for
in this gray lit kitchen on an afternoon full of soft son snores and scratchy throats, a prayer for the living, a prayer for the dying, a beautiful wish...........................

spotlit fingertip..........

an emphasis on drama, maybe to stress the importance, maybe it is important, maybe there is nothing better to do, boredom has won the day and having filled a plate, can be passed around to be enjoyed by all involved, a long awaited for evening must be coming, there is no other explanation, or maybe this is the evening, the ground opens to take back or spew forth, equalizing the score, unequivocal, uninterrupted, unintended, there will be no night..............

a storm from within............

the forefront of forgiveness will be forgotten when time heals the salt in wounds, self infliction, sustained nihlistic impulses, a voice of reason in the wind. whispers of violence, pure but not clean, innocent if not acted upon, and then autumn rose from the listless days with a beautiful fury, the likes of which have not been seen in these parts for some time, the story has yet to be written........

coming up.............

not this thursday, but next thursday, the last thursday as far as thursdays go in october, this will be happening, free beer, come see................

ardea herodias..........

from here to there is a few more feet, an extraction from the head of another onto wood, a commission, a fine time had by all, now back to the grindstone..........

honey badger scrawled on a windshield is not art...........

but i am no expert, and for that matter why would anyone care? the trappings of class unrest are peeking around various corners of the country, and who could really be surprised at their arrival? the time has come for a change, although nobody in the narrow focus of the media has any ideas, therefore the protestant ethic will manifest itself in busy young hands and random acts of destruction, even if the "artists" are unaware of their motivations or maybe they are?...........