as if invisible

as if invisible

he sits facing

another wall waiting

for it to crumble

so he can

proceed unobstructed

full speed ahead

full of nervous habits

none of which

can be broken

with ease

of driving a truck

through a snow bank

in august but the whole

earth is getting warmer

eventually he and the others

might struggle to the breath

everyone will have to carry

portable artificial lungs

to cleanse the air

before consumption

silly to think all the humans

have done will have no effect

even if this life is the only one

chance and what if it isn't

what difference does that make

now present day

as the wars rage

killing those who have nothing

at all to do with the heart

of the matter never told true

reasons for anything

so that everyone will just fall into

place there has got to be more

to it but why is getting along in this world

so low on the list of priorities

right next to taking care of

the only home given to all...

probably never see

this is probably one
of the largest books he's ever
written in but those reading
printed text would never know
nor will they ever see his strange
handwriting style most
poetry he has read has been
printed as well as all the books
he has read
he often wonders though
how much character is lost
when it becomes a book in print
what does the author express
in their handwriting can you tell the mood
by the handwriting of the writer
easy to read others as he has seen
are absolutely illegible
and so the printed version would be favored
and what does all this ramble mean
for you to decide as he scribbles away
in his extra-large lined leather journal that
you will probably never see...

at our fingertips

really just don't understand
the mindset of some
those whose hopes and dreams
are not their own
but preplanned just like
everyone else
easy to buy into
what about what we really want
what's really important
step into a realm where understanding
holds importance the day
is not spent in pursuit
of what others dictate
our own minds must flourish
under less pressure
and no stress we have to learn
to let it go in between
bouts with self doubt
we should realize potential
each one of us holds
deep within or at
our fingertips...

explanation

it is a city
and I spell the name
incorrectly
but I have a reason
it's not an enormous city
as far as cities go
it's relatively small
but it's not a town
it's bigger
or a big town
Brocktown...

explore

what kind of strength
does it take
to be patient enough
to be a part of a positive change
moving forward with speed
and agility overcoming
the downest days
because of the highest
smiles trying very hard
not to be the pest
what kind of mind
does it take to explore
thoughts constantly...

only minutes

only minutes since
eyes last touched beauty
the smile that makes the worries
of the day fly far and fast
only minutes now
until unconsciousness
side by side asleep
awake in our dreams
only minutes until the dog
snores a bit and the cat pulls at the door
wonder what they think
and if they don't
what are they looking at
and squawking about
only minutes until who knew
one year ago who knows
what another year will bring
only minutes most each one
appreciated as if
there are only minutes left
on the clock in between
breaths hear the movement
from another room
only minutes until
this quiet time shared
together in thought
nothing can compare
and the fan circulates
enough air only minutes
until morning seems
to arrive too fast...

new way to smile

wonder what
my brother is doing
far from home
but right at home
in the mountains
a teacher to many
including his brother
hoping again soon
he will visit the east coast
stay awhile maybe through
holidaze or new year's eve
wonder what his son
has learned today
maybe discovering
a new way to smile...

follow your own rules

the light changes to green
and he doesn't go
he sits and they pass
with their obscenities
on their way to church
no doubt and he knows
he is holding up the flow
of things on an early morning
ride where he just wants to slow down
for one brief moment
the day will no doubt be
run here run there
on time and late
but follow your own rules
and make the path you follow
mean something other than
being one in the herd
not understanding your mission
light turns yellow
pulls into the intersection
divided in half by the double line
on the other side
traveling in the wrong lane at times
stronger than another as they turn
when his high beams stare them down
he hears the familiar whistle
knows little or nothing
about the slow limp
and pipe cleaner Joe dropped
what he couldn't hold
fell down the stairs
next time he might follow
his own rules and
not worry about what another
might do because he will
and you lose
follow your own rules...

for what it's done

don't want to stop
thinking about it
because something
has to facilitate the change
is as inevitable as the movement
of the tide eroding the shore
corporatism will surely
erode liberty
can't stop thinking
about it is the controllers
who turn everyone into
hungry consumers
and workers for the corporations
who are the controllers
looking at all they created
then liberty taken
right under our noses
as we sleep on the system
saying it could be worse
and it could and it will
if we let it get bigger
and be the solution
when corporatism is the problem
and needs to be recognized
and held accountable...

just sitting here

sitting here
and not wanting to work
someone else's profit
and just stacking it
getting so old
where is the profit
for the work I do
and I have the choice
to stay home
be one of those guys
doesn't go to work
because he can get away
with staying home
and getting paid
realizing it might be
one of his final
choices whether or not
to just sit here all day...

looks like he feels

they keep pouring out
as he twists his hair
and thinks of strength
of one lock and they
tell him he looks foolish
and maybe he does
but he looks like he feels
not everyone thinks for themselves
and sometimes he will wait all day
to see the smile
then ruled too strange
for the moment
not the appropriate
time for laughter...

many things to mind

thirteen days is a lot of time
between thoughts and pages
stuck together
with dried coffee spilled
thirteen days ago
he remembers being
in a similar spot
it was probably raining
and the country is fighting
in wars that won't soon end
no matter what they say
no matter how many die in the sand
of a foreign land thirteen days later
does anyone actually feel safer
deeper in thought who knows
if anyone is even thinking
thirteen days later the world
has gone mad some will sneak
through with pockets filled
with truth not beans
but will they be heard
by the fearful masses
who beg to be freed from their ignorance
thirteen days of silence
and bettering oneself
might prove more productive
means to allowing a peace to flourish
rather than the annoying rash
of decals window press ons
supporting what or whom
thirteen days bring
many things to mind...

ongoing conversation

church bells in the distance

and suddenly the continuation

of the strangest conversation

it’ll all be on the board

when the card players

sit around the table

discussing the business at hand

twenty minutes pass

in the slow blink of a tired eye

church bells every fifteen minutes

until time tells them

to sound no longer

watching the small black dog

suddenly in the presence of all kinds

of rapid thoughts running circles

in the mind sore from much meditation

on nearly every thought but

maybe he is all wrong

and all of these words

are part of his elaborate imagination

back and forth as the sun descends

no guilt for his lack of rhyme

you’ve got the let the mind

free to think what it will

as words enter and exit

too quick to catch

all at once slow it down

or read it backwards…

land in the back yard

the low flying plane

sounds like it will land

in the back yard

it is wonderful to sit

on the back porch

so many places he might rather be

sometimes the desire is to be

around other people

and constantly wonder what they are thinking

as they move from spot to spot

some hurry and some move slowly

but surely with a purpose

aside from taking up space

it might be needed by the important few

that orchestrate the symphony

of the many does anyone do this

thinking out loud on his porch

he can hear the laughter and sadness

and some of the silent whisperings

of the neighborhood at least one

snap shot is definitely not enough

room to capture it all

the plane is circling back

he is sure of it…

3 pages and it fades

three pages separate

him and the end

of another collection of thought

the most random type

still quite methodical

the purpose none other than

the thoughts themselves

three pages until he feels

as though he has accomplished

another chapter of thought

but some would always rather

not think about much

except getting to work

for someone else mind you

and it’s not important to

work on the self

three pages until number fifty-two

complete ready for the random selection

to be born into the next volume

of random thoughts

brought to you by none of than

himself

three pages in between

now and then when

new thoughts lie

before other’s eyes to read

and wonder no more

about what goes on in the mind

random thought processor

realizing he won’t soon

close the gap with this thought

as it fades into the night…

studied thought

how many days
pass before
one day you wake up
and realize everything
you have been
led to believe as truth
has been told to give you
a sense of security
and pride but is based
solely on the success
of a few selected
at the expense of all the rest
how many days
before will open eyes
and realize the corrections
that need to be made
to our idea of pride and
what we believe to be truth
how many days
will I sit at this table
putting thoughts down
only repetitive
to stress the importance
of studied thought…

repetitive

out on the back porch
scribbling away with something
to say without getting
repetitive monotone
like a sedative
puts your head out sideways
lying on the floor
like a dog motionless
an already fallen log
with grass growing all around
fell without a sound
still want to tell a story
unload the brain how long
will it take until I too fall
and will I break
as down I go
buried cold in the snow
of summer must be rain
something wet will
distort the brain
so words come out
a slight bit twisted
and when I threw the pitch
went by quick you missed it...

not far behind

trying not to get ahead
of myself or left behind
forget the words
then hit rewind unwind
search and find until something
comes to mind what we've been told
no mater how old we have got to doubt
to get all the truth out
from up in the head no matter
what's said here
the same won't get ahead
but not far behind...

even if only one

even if only one a day
turns to night
faster than he could
imagine clarity
coming through thought
extended for hours
without stoppage
or even a stalling point
even if only one page at a time
writing the story
of the history of his life
unfolding quietly
and even if no one notices
the changes and he makes them
come about at least once a day
if he can commit only a little
time daily to the mind circus...

back again

back again
two thoughts right next
to each other
making noise
not as much confidence
in all these words
give me confidence
in two thoughts simultaneously
occurring on days when nothing
makes sense even when
standing upside down
wonder what he carries
in the bag my guess
is not a gun
but what do I know
back again for another
cup of coffee and
a little conversation
keeping the bag on the table
maybe in case anyone
questions his motives
or the direction headed
even if no one knows
who he is or what he does
or where he goes
what time is it now...

take a look

take a look
through the blinds
to see the sky
even if it is gray been doing it
so long
seems as if it may never stop
even to pause
for a moment
take a look over the hills
and into the sunset
behind the gray
of course...

someone should be

sometimes I feel I am
doing this just to fill
books with thoughts
over all these years
doing it daily
the sun is dancing
with the rain today
sometimes I feel I am
alone
doing this and no one
will notice
this today and maybe
that's why
sometimes I feel I am
doing this
because
someone should be...

something more than

sifting through
mind of madness
writing is thought's way
taking verbal pictures
writing is drawing
sketches of these
bursts of light
shining from within
the mind's eye
but without reading
writing seems pointless
who is the audience
for all this random thought
is there one at all
or is it a creation
of this mad scattered mind
bent on putting words in front of eyes
to read and think
what's the point of life
if we don't think
can't always let someone else
think for you
choices need to be made
for yourself
writing is a way to turn
a rainy Monday morning
into something more than
a rainy Monday morning...

pounding the side of tonight

and still there are times
that the pen just won't move
and the page stays blank
under thought how many
different ways can it be expressed
quest for answers
and more questions
as the minutes role by like
tumbleweed in the desert
still the mind goes blank at times
unwinding in the awful heat
and humidity nearly thirty minutes later
the page remains less than full time job
collecting thoughts for any and all
to see if they care who does
the thinking and who stands
eyes focused on the page
beneath pen and deep thought
pounding at the side of tonight
long passed too tired
to stay awake sixty minutes passed now
barely two pages filled
what is he thinking as the night
slips closer to tomorrow
further from yesterday and some would say
he's got nothing to speak
of thought he's got
too many...

stop the death

three months since forces
won the battle still fighting
the war for what?
how many are going in
every corner of the earth
armed everyone
ready to destroy each other
money and power
and influence
there is no moral reason
hiding somewhere
behind all the greed
three months since forces
started liberating
and today I drove by
a war memorial in the city
thought that the aim should be
to decrease the need for such
memorials stop the wars
stop all the death...

enormously hot

unusually rainy and then
enormously hot
sticky the kind of air
that's hard to breathe
every other day it smells like rain
and does but even the momentary
cool breeze doesn't last for long
the sound of the afternoon rain in the trees
might actually be worth every drop of sweat
adjusting well for whatever record
spinning end over end at times
avoiding a step deep into some pit...

this crazy world

sometimes I find myself

wishing I was in the middle

of somewhere else

where life might be different

happy here in the moment

would be fun to live

this life in a different place

change of scenery

each morning I watch

the night wake into day

how nice though would

those first splashes of color be

coming up over mountains

or a beautiful ocean-scape

truly believe everyone

needs a change of scenery

from time to time

and to see the natural beauty

of sunrise somewhere new

for a change

in this crazy world…

close out the day

funny how a day can pass
so fast without seeming
like anytime at all
sometimes all confidence
is lost then sitting backward
with Charles Bukowski
some hip hop and a smile across
the room and the moment lasts
for hours and funny how not many
might take note of these things
maybe because others don't
care to waste the time
thinking of what to say
put the pen to page and get it
out of the way as three or four
get flipped in each sitting
hits the ground running
another silent sound
created time and space
moving in every direction
won't cross it out to make a correction
keep moving on might actually
fix itself if not tomorrow will
still be a sunny day
somewhere above even the thickest clouds
especially when they threaten to darken
this day and it's funny how
the slightest sound or breath
of silence will send the mind rattling
down one of those hallways
that keeps going until
the pen starts to get the page
a bit messy realizing eyes
starting to close out this day...

hope is dead

Bob Hope died yesterday
so now I can no longer
say 'keep Hope alive'
goes to show me what is funny
and what is not funny at all
he was 100 years old
and now he is dead
honestly I didn't really think
he was all that funny
anyway his biggest audiences
were troops overseas
or home for a break
and I guess when the job is
killing and gruesome
and not at all funny
Bob Hope could get you laughing
so to the soldiers he gave a smile
he will be missed...

extreme sound

who will hear
this voice not loud
like an unhappy child
loud like an explosion
taking with it many blocks
building in reverse
with no warning
or preparation
just extreme sound from
all around...

the heat is terrible

the heat is terrible
everything is sticky
can't put a shirt on my
back with out it getting
soaked while my bandanna
remains drenched too
the smell of rain in the breeze
soon the rain will fill the sky
outside the air will cool down
until the I will sweat
in the heat still terrible
pain in the brain
until all the thoughts released
into the freedom of these pages
given a thought to go on
now is the only choice
in the heat struggling to keep
focused on the task at hand
out reached waiting to be held
late night until eyes closed far away
from the heat and terrible humidity
making the air outside nearly
unbreathable inside smoke surrounds
like sound of thunder rumble
and lightning flashing above
lit up momentarily like a strobe light
and the heat is not so terrible
after rain cuts through the humidity
into the dark night sound
on leaves and grass soaking up
all the heat still terrible
breathing and sleeping weather
then when all hope for a cool rain is thrown away
the colder front slams into the side
of this humid night...

next to words unwritten

the rain pounds the ground

and his hand almost won’t grip the pen

sliding right out of hand

onto the page next to words

he hasn’t written yet

the thunder crashes overhead

rumbles the walls and floor below

what would it be like

if he didn’t write it all down

what would he do with all his time

spent thinking and reading

distracted by all the noise

the rain pours down in buckets

but it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t

write it all down for some to see

lucky or unlucky who is to know this

who has these answers…

strength & patience

the night is sticky
just sitting still
might make him sweat
thinking it’ll all make sense
in reality nothing
seems real anymore
parts to a grand dream scattered
here and there
for the rest of his life
hoping someday
all the pieces fit
with no trouble
from any direction
positioning himself
behind at times
he doesn’t want to be seen
heard long ago
that nothing comes easy
strength and patience
go hand in hand…

free fall from 12 thousand

one month since last cracked
this book and no one knows why
two books going at once
and I haven’t asked around
guess I just assume
no one knows why
even if they do
do they understand
the stagnating thoughts
they are reading them
and that is the point
tonight tomorrow or Wednesday
getting my thoughts read by others
some might think as much
close to overload as one can get
get one free if you pay for the first
sixty seconds is a free fall
from twelve thousand
on your birthday…

silence on the porch

silence and the rainfall

sounds heard tonight

silent approach

to thoughts unknown

old pen new thoughts

try desperately to flow

smooth something’s blocking

the flow stop in the action

something’s in the way

silence all that surrounds

at night darkness takes

overhead a blanket

smudged words

on the page

not quite as remembered

silence much different

everything feels fine

it’s where he began

and will end all over again

who could’ve predicted

this outcome silence

and a night called Friday

still no weekends

anymore for the American worker

stuck behind one day off

and a ridiculous hourly wage

silence will never equal

the riches other will attain

in material riches can’t buy

happiness more stress never rest

to keep silence from attacking

him where he sits

on the porch…

ring in the empire

what if this is the last

all the freedom has become the past

ring in the Empire bombs blasting in air

how many of these patriots notice or care

we are lied to daily on one level or another

what’s next a civil war where we all kill each other

or more terror attacks instilling more fear

into the soft flesh of our liberty it’ll tear

they are promising security from danger

they are all lies and it brings on the anger

and the contempt for what’s done in our name

we are the pieces in the big power game

if it’s really going to be the last

should we bow down before every question is asked

and answered when did they stop working for us

they keep us distracted betraying our trust

convinced all is done with our freedom in mind

but they limit that freedom wherever they can find

all of these fireworks are in celebration

can’t help but think of similar sounds of devastation

in foreign lands coming soon to a city near you

when will truth be resurrected and come into clear view…

can't close eyes

can’t close eyes when thoughts still race

brain numb for minutes at a time

got to keep the hand moving

the ink flowing how

he knows what to put where

it just goes on and on

he may not even get to chose

it forces its way out

got its own mind

can’t close eyes burning and dry

thin yellow dust covers everything

makes it hard to breathe and sleep

and think sputtering to a halt

slowing to start again suddenly

speeding into immovable objects

he never thought of

can’t close eyes when there is more to write

left to write what’s wrong

confusion got the mind tied up in knots

like the hair on his head

no one understands his desire

to be individual and not like all the rest

slaving for some cheesy job

it’ll melt someday no matter how

much keeps him awake

with few hours before he has

got to do the same

all over again…

nearly one am

there is a group
of two or three birds
that sing beautiful
as if the sun is shining
on a wonderful summer day
just one thing
it’s after midnight
and some of us need to go to sleep
the city night comes
with all sorts of midnight noises
they blend into the night
these birds sound out tunes
in pitches that should be saved
daytime hours and I am being selfish
I have to learn to share the space
and I lie awake confused by the birds
that never sleep nearly one am…

urge to know the truth

he completely wants

to ignore obvious

fabrication and not have to

worry about the future

if they continue down

this path destruction for

corporate profit

people no longer have a voice

if it does not happen

to repeat what needs to be heard

they need to have

all the power everywhere

he wants to ignore

this and just  live his life

find his happiness

but how can he be silent

it comes out in batches

on paper and with

voice and he does

wish to ignore

the urge to know the truth…

will be from now on

won’t even turn it on

hardly care what the latest spin

is making him crazy

planes rumble overhead

cloud cover nearly a month

older now he sits

contemplating the rest of his life

here tonight sirens blare in the distance

between here and there

is always too far

he is not so much worried

but obsessively cautious

time slips into endless

tomorrows always taking

a step backward

from time to time sitting on

the curb to enjoy the sun

pieces in a puzzle causing

a refocus onto what’s important

and what is only meant to distract

the headlines read

only doom from now on

mouth pieces for the stinking rich

the oil empire what they have become

he can’t stand to believe anyone

of the millions wanting peace someday

in this lifetime or

will it be war from now on…

rapidly getting slow

can you keep up the pace
rapidly getting slow
to roll out of bed
made only minutes after waking
only to do someone else’s work
what a life
luckily there are positive aspects
allowing us to go on each day
on a path no one knows
how we will make it
doesn’t make sense
that we even made it this far
along and only others work is important
focus on the spots
where happiness dwells
silently waiting to be found
hiding from what’s real today
gone tomorrow is the end of May
an unseasonable month
since last we spoke
too many things to count on this
we never found that reason
why we all work for other people
money cannot buy happiness
definitely the worn out cliché
life can sometimes be natural
as if something actually mattered
as the consumer in all of us stops
to make sure as hell
that we remain on the right path…

he will get tired

there are going to be days
when he will be unable
to sound inspired
at times he will get tired
his thoughts become more random
or appear together in tandem
around in circles for hours
he remembers towers
that once stood for something
reduced to a sort of nothing
one day is all it took
there in the morning
gone by afternoon
take a look
with a stray thought now
everything was made
different that day
somehow there are still
going to be days
he will not touch thoughts
days at a time
who has the hours needed
to construct a proper rhyme...

a veces

at times
too many thoughts
enter the brain
overloaded
forced into depression's
corner no one
will let me escape
discouraging the ones I love
though they are the only
ones who let me escape
to them
at times...

nothing concluded 127

on top of it all

he's cold

not so alone

misses those

blue eyes

looking to the skies

vast and expanding

even as clouds move

in and out

threaten what he might know...

nothing concluded 126

taking another step

towards verbal immortality

the words and thoughts

remain etched in ink

for some eyes

to view maybe

one hundred years

from now but maybe

he'll burn it all before he goes

nothing concluded...

nothing concluded 125

first in a new series

or section of dreams

with eyes open

and focused on everything

at once

equally balanced

on every aspect

of what makes this dream

more secure than that which

most consider reality

entirely up to the individuals

involved in a dream

no sleep could give a better

random thought

scattered for anyone

originating here

holder of the pen

decides where it begins

each day

nothing concluded...

refocus on words

getting refocused on
putting positive foot forward
and putting random thoughts
in front of stranger's eyes
refocus on words not always the greatest
vehicle for bringing thoughts to life
on page drifting in and out
might not know exactly
what's on the mind
what if it's all made up
to the top of the page
back down to the bottom
another cup of coffee
won't keep me up focused
concentrating on further
understanding of everything examined...

ear to the floor

listening to that sound
the buzzing in an ear
to the floor
still no one here
the sound as it becomes silence
rising with the moon
smile in a different way
back when it made sense
enough to move forward again
stuck up in the same old trap time flies when trying to enjoy
drags when desire is for it to pass fast
assembling thoughts for a public viewing
life through more positive eyes
seeing straight even when crossed
each street individually making a mark
red right here in the book
carried from spot to spot
the sound as ear to floor
is pen to page means the mind's inspired
the heart racing toward some end
always beginning a new thought
utilizing all the time spent recording
all that can be crammed into sound
listen as it comes close again...

forget loneliness

forgetting being forgotten
loneliness has been chased
from his side
quick now
down for the count
playing as background
another night to remember
to add to the five weeks
of severe calm
smooth sailing
no doubt choppy waters
someday five weeks
just gives a good first impression
seen through any tough times
another smile forgetting
any negativity shoved out of the way
new positive path plowing
through snow on christmas
alone but without loneliness
forgetting that too...

leg is numb

when your leg goes numb

from not moving enough

and none of those you met

have the right stuff

that you need the now

and no introduction needed

until now flood waters

have not receded

standing knee deep in the dark

got something to say

the feeling I cannot describe

and it won’t go away

anytime soon if I can

help it keep getting stronger

some thoughts short

another might be longer…

beauty's eyes

it would be an understatement
to say this is all good
amazing nights looking
into beauty's eyes
blue like sky above
without clouds
no rain on any parade
marching here and there
with mind occupied
all the moments
shared and replayed
over and over
like a classic movie
fitting each night perfect
vision as we stare
at the same moon
and stars when apart
easier once weariness
goes away arriving next
day renewed
thinking how nice
sun rise and set together
with beauty's eyes
next to mine...

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...