twisting regularity

it’s never three

when he says it’s three

it’s not quite three

or maybe later than usual

sleeping under covers

warm under clouds

confusion erased

when days first light

illuminates even the cloudiest days

somehow gets bright when

first light comes close

still in their own head guarded

against all odds

from silence to live on center stage

for those who want

to expel loneliness

even if only for a week

better than two years of silence

but somehow it all seems to happen

for reasons unknown

to anyone even those involved

can’t answer the question posed

why??

one word should be simple

a twist of regularity

makes it something different

and hard as concrete

the answer is liquid

and runs out of the hand

when trying to pick it up

at the end of the day

exhausted from the walk upstairs

or down from high above

the mind contorted

and not even realizing the time

and now it’s most definitely

close to four but he never really knows

and all of this is only a guess

which side he is on is never known for sure

finding security in freedom

he works hard to keep the mind

completely liberated…

rain and cold

rain and cold weather
or not anyone is ready
for the change in direction
given or taken a trip
to somewhere else
might be more exciting
but where are thoughts
more realistic living in a little
space with ideas contained
up in the brain for hours
before pen brings them out into
the open letter replied to and sometimes
present thoughts might take days
or weeks before they reach the page
cold and rain soaks then freezes
when it is cold enough
thoughts get stuck
never come out as if the pen
is all jammed up and no ink will flow
in the cold rain and terror
because no one knows who is telling
the truth and who is lying
so easy when power is given away
to those who don't deserve to know
rain and cold from now on
under this reign of terror...

multiple choice

sounds of an early afternoon
when multiple choice question asked
he stands shocked
nearly drops what he is doing
standing next to boxes and fruit
tongue tied
doesn’t know what to say
hoping though he was clear
in the response given
seemed pretty steady in the steps
of changing things
settling a situation
before moving forward
he stands awkwardly waiting for
his mind to come back
did he say anything
he didn’t hear the words
as they came out of his mouth
if they did
hope he wasn’t hallucinating
because that smile is extremely inviting...

write now

what it comes down to
it's wearing me out
eleven years
monotony
in the everyday grind
education never stopped
after degree earned
wanted to focus on words
on these thoughts here
but loneliness has interrupted
my momentum
something in the way of progress
this amount of thought
tears at the foundation of the self
found revealing and can go it solo
what it comes down to
some days are so easy to coast through
around people feeling necessary
helping others feel the same
everyone seems content
who is really happy
seems everyone has something
blocking ultimate happiness
what it comes down to
nothing seems to make sense
and that's exactly why I
write now...

nothing concluded 124

been some time now

don't know what to expect

forty-eight hours now

until the dawn

of new light

can't plan something like this

who could know how

anything will turn out

thought after thought

even if it doesn't make sense

to the average reader

why he might think this way

much too much

time spent deep in thought

he would escape by now

staying up late

just in case someone

might call him

as they see him

still nothing concluded

been some time now

he's gone and twisted his mind

and he doesn't care who knows

at this point he finds his strength

to wait one more day

until dark tomorrow

sleep and wake with dawn

on the mind

still somehow

nothing concluded...

we'll see

called all I know and
no one is home
most will sit back
he's hidden up in the dome
lights on he will
drive all over town
can't get caught up
in the confines of being down
for whatever
can't find one to talk
the wind blows through
the trees at night I stalk
from the porch
to yard in between thoughts laid
out for him to see
all the thoughts I have made
some progress even
if I don't notice
ink on the arm
peaceful thoughts flower lotus
moon is
the scent in the air
dreaded locks
are in my hair
might all fall out
someday not worried about that
what did ya do last night
they asked, I just sat
and tried to understand
the creative side of me
what's to come
in a month or so
wait and soon we will see...

missed a day

missed a day in more
than one sense of the words
all jammed up for a day
in the life two days
can't move fast enough
a solitude I can't seem
to see my way out
of the mind and onto
the page after page
love it how ink sprays
paper so randomly
like the words that form thoughts
when read by many
if any randomly scattered
thoughts tattered thoughts
how many have this kind of time
and would chose to do something
constructive with it as a goal
as a light at the end of some tunnel
destined to do good
missed a day but who would miss it
switching to a less obtrusive method
of madness in pen out pouring thought
soaring and searing the page under it...

grind out

on a break from
the grind
out another ten pages
instead of stacking
fruits stacking thoughts
sitting in the car
the only place
to find some quiet
too much smoke
needing to clear the air
all around
four days until
something to look forward to
time off from the grind
out more thought
drop it onto a page
when most just sit
and watch the tube...

morning's first light

only for your eyes
waiting to meet
mine again exploding under foot
thoughts of not letting
the knot slip away
lose the loose grip
on reality possessed
great patience writing
about morning's first light
in July then September
finally came and I never
expected to hear the voice
and now more true
inspiration like wind in the trees
through cracks in window panes
through tree branches still
cluttered with wet leaves
that haven't fallen as I have
from the curb of the road
time and time again
impatiently waiting on morning's
first light it's November and
everyone I know is a Scorpio
on the opposite side of the zodiac
I wait for the perfectly imperfect
match and that first light
might lead in that direction...

14 hours in the dark

who would've guessed
paths crossed for no apparent reason
years ago at the most unsuspecting
place where he always drinks too much
luckily it was only coffee
might have made things different
had it been alcohol glad it wasn't
for his sake and all those around him
anger would no doubt swallow him
whole time he was here writing
down some thoughts
who would've known
anyone would take any interest
enough to ride fourteen hours
in the dark...

thoughts he thinks alone

making up for lost time
all in one day
he might get understood
until then he will move a pawn
in a defensive position guarding
a queen he hasn't seen in years
constant pen movement
leaves his arm throbbing at times
too complex for his own simplicity
watches the ink in the pen dwindle
after only one day of use
only to those who might well
think this much
as the well is too deep
for any of his wishes
to even be heard
an hour goes by too fast
under smoke when it burns
the eyes are all dotted lines
signed crossing bridges and t's
when need be silent like he
has been here too long
he thinks his thoughts
alone one day
it will pay off and balance
achieved right in the middle
of a lonely month
relief might well
arrive with dawn...

really real

not too cold to sit out on the porch
best thoughts captured here
fifty books later what have I learned
of myself seen many artists
work the hardest knowing their best works
completed alone without intrusions
solitary like this mind
night after night
and maybe everything will
work out for the best
still doubting that any of this
is really real makes for a non stop
thought slam one into another
and get a flow going
never slowing down
for all the road bumps
like an expensive stereo
in a car too small...

no one to count on

bringing with him others

who too might need to explode

onto page continuously

girl in a club off to the side

on the floor feverishly writing

only days from now

time shifts and nothing can be believed

spending the raining day in thought

rubbing the head

as if it could reveal

some truth will be revealed

only dread waits at the end

with a flash light turned on

he still doesn’t know the way

back to reality his pen strokes

are choppy writing may be sloppy

bringing with him thoughts

from all parts of the mind

play then stop rewind

play it again hear it another way

bringing with him all the thoughts

today tomorrow beyond Sunday

closer still to sorrow bring it up so high

he sits in a cloud as he jumps ahead

five days when he will shut off

the real world and exist only to himself

bringing everything he needs because

no one else is coming therefore

there is no one else to count on…

all the leaves should fall at once

the wind howls

as if it knew

what doom lies ahead

of the game until

new ruler took over

who elects who knows what

all the leaves should fall at once

it would make the pick up

a little less on the back

looking up into cold rain

and it’s November

that’s probably a song

he wouldn’t remember

if he heard it before the storm

took over at least it’s not snow

would slow down this fast

paced race to nowhere

no matter where he is today

more himself today than previously

believed he would be saved

does he even deserve salvation

as he knowing or unknowingly

follows the script reworking daily

the details contained within pages

with no excuses straight out the brain

who else would just hope

to reach one or two who can definitely

the leaves fall randomly

with no pattern emerging

every fall individual

wind howls different

for everyone… 

will pound the mind

how many nights

will pound his mind

back into shape

trying to pull the wool

off eyes in order

to see clear the table

for new thoughts

set up to be knocked

down like no other

voice can be heard

but the one who warns

of great disaster

is ignored by the multitudes

knowledge suppressed

to keep the flock

in line together

conquering the fear

of being misrepresented

by those who make

the rules we all must fall in line

follow the lead the mind

to freedom, the only freedom

not stolen while we are all

sleeping…