Crazy

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In plain sight
across an empty road
Laid a still shadow
weighed down by gravity
Welcoming the scavengers
it grew lightly
Piece by piece
transforming into energy
Dissipating
helplessly
Until morning and the sun rose
the shadow decomposed
There,
my love goes…

I’ll See You Tomorrow

A legend in her own landscape

I’ve been to a place where people go to die
Living until the last of their lives
Head held high

I worked in the valley of riches
Pushed heavy carts as I dragged my feet
Beat

The valley of riches and the valley of death
Lovers hold hands as the ship sinks
The lonely wait to reconvene
One last blink

This isn’t a love story, though
It’s just something all should know
Life comes and goes
Death keeps no toll

I’ve seen him look her in the eyes
Without compromise
Left a husband
Left a son
Now they’re left with no one

Dazed is the look on their face
Having conversions with a wall
Living at their pace
Until they take that final fall

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Irresolute
Weak
But waving

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hope it is
Hope held tight
For the fear of the light
Is greater than the fear of tomorrow

But the poor soul doesn’t always go when it wants
It leaves the body when it’s time is done
Leaving you saying “I’ll see you tomorrow…”
To absolutely no one.

So leave me here in the valley of tears
The valley of riches
The valley of death
Because where tomorrow isn’t promised today is cherished

Wonderland Dreamers

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A collection of lost souls
Caught up in individual woes

Rags to riches
Riches to rags
The dreamers of wonderlands
Looking only at what they have

Revenge curls the ends of the black hair
As he kisses her tight
Life of misery
A life of blithe

Up high they wander
Up high at night

Singing songs of the ancestors
Dancing while smoking their pipes

Painting the sky with dusted stars
Cross my heart
Play the games of the wandering souls
But you’ll never understand the troubles or woes

Where the Lovers Go

082

I live where the real people live
Where the beggars beg
And the givers give

I want to go where the lovers go
Where time passes but not so slow
And there’s no difference between the fool’s gold

As dawn breaks the sun pierces the clouds
The dew drops
But the rain is never loud

For some, tomorrow will bring sorrow
Others will return upon what they borrow

Left abandoned and creating rust
Only a few can you trust

Hypocrisy shines a bright light through the stained glass
As the saints and the sinners return to mass

We walk together
Wandering
Only some are free

But I’d rather be where the lovers be

London

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Kissed her lips in the bitter cold
Her hands in his pockets to rid the bite of frost
There was no rush to get home

So they continued to walk

Heals clicked on the cobble stone
As music notes around them dance

“Você é linda”

The bells tolled
But in the moment they were lost
One that could never mock

Feet lifted and flown
Floating on air at first glance

“Tu és o meu amor”

A love that was bold
Two paths graciously crossed

She left her heart in London
She left

her

heart

“Eu vou sempre me lembrar de você”

Playing with Fire

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Dear mother why haven’t you warned me
I keep on playing with fire to cure the lonely
Needed to keep warm but can’t get to close
Stepping nearby and beginning to provoke

Illusions dance in the flames
Shadows and sights- difficult to not embrace

See what you want to see in the golden blaze
Overlooking the pain of the inferno
Begin to saunter closer in a daze
Bit by the fire and embers glow

How does the toxic air taste?

The ribbons of red will never set you free
And forever you will be reminded by scars of agony

Dear mother I wish you would have taught me
This would be painless to foresee
Being cold will send you shivers
And anything is better than those embers
That the fire will blow into its storm

Wicked

leaves
The windows were open bringing in the movement of the night
This chill in the air sends shivers up the spines of the wicked
And calms those who are kind
Let the wind blow and welcome autumn.
Let the wind make it right

“Hey Mr Brown Eyes don’t let your whole life pass you by”
She whispered in his ear before the summer had departed
“I won’t as long as you’re by my side”
He responded so lighthearted

Summer came and gone
Like the peaking waves at dawn
Just like the season he’s vanished and turned shy
Not knowing its ok to no longer be her guy

For its autumn that blows in all the fury
Makes the air crisp and freezes the worry
There’s no need for the summer light
When all that brings fright is slumbering well into the autumn night

Let that cool air bite every time she’s reminded of those eyes
Because like playing with fire there is no compromise
Remember the grasps of air while she pulled on his hair
Love is a game that is not fair

Let the wicked be wicked
And the kind be kind
For it’s the changing of the seasons
No reasons
No rye

After a Dream

Andrew Newell Wyeth

Painting by: Andrew Newell Wyeth

My eyes grew weary from the heat filled room with eastward facing windows. The sun continues to turn my bed into a furnace as it shines through the glass during the hottest part of the day. As temperatures rise my eyes continue to gain more weight until they are too heavy to stay open. When my eyelids close out the sunshine all that is left is darkness.

The light kept out allows for a canvas of imagination. Dreams dwindling down the rope of the pulled curtain and left on the stage is the show. But, on this day I have discovered, even there you find me. My escape in my dreams, this hidden fantasy, a place where I can shut everyone out and welcome only those who are welcome, you find me there. You’ve walked into my room on this stage, entering the door as if it’s your own. I leap from the place I have fallen and land into the sea of your arms, until you melt away. You’ve left me on my own stage, in my own imagination, alone with you melted on the floor. Even here, in my own world, created with my own mind, my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, you’ve conquered me. I’ve fallen again, not just in the reality created by all men, but here in my world, I’ve fallen again. I am a fool.

So I’ve awoke from this dream and found myself laying back down in this hot, hot, eastward facing room. And I will stay here, for if I step out the desert breeze will only fill toxic sand in my lungs. I am left with nothing but these dreams I no longer have control of. The welcomed, the unwelcome- entering in and out. I allow my eyes to grow heavy to avoid toxicity within the desert air, for the wine stained clouds that float above this house never pour. Leaving the sun to continue to shine in these eastward facing windows and leaving you, the unwelcome, to enter on that stage door.

Within the Valley Walls

Salvador Dali

Salvador Dali

Religious relics chime in the wind,
As God whispers in the ears of those who are worthy.
The desert blaze burns the cityscape
And leaves my eyes red and mourning.

Fear passes the time,
Wonders world wide,
And curiosity follows the black cat in its passing.

A life in monotone lives with no worries,
And the mother weeps at the loss of her glory.

Ancient is as new life begins.
Rejuvenation of the holy.

The rest of us stop and listen to what the whistleblower said,
“Two guys shot down and dead.”

As the valley walls speak,
Old time lovers reconvene,
But nothings is more sweet than those departing.

Desert Breeze IV: “Sealed with a Kiss”

A few months had passed since I have left home. A discarded cell phone left ringing at the bottom of a rest stop trash can and the keys to a beaten ’91 Haritage Softail Harley rest in my hands as I waited for the check at a diner.

“Pay at the register, sweetheart.”

The waitress in a pinstriped dress with a white apron handed me the black book showing my dues for a plate of French fries and a coke. I responded with a smile and a nod but sat silently. I only spoke when I needed to. I did plenty of talking within my thoughts

At this point I wasn’t sure if I would ever head home. Each moment I was certain about polar opposite decisions. Being adamant with each only proved my indecisiveness.

I walked to cash rep and handed the lady my check with a twenty. Her mind was focused on each note, counting and recounting each dollar as if linen in the bills were silk. On the counter stacked postcards within a rack, one of which read “Crossroads of America.” I held it in my hand for only a moment. The edges were worn and the photo was faded from the southward facing windows.

“Take the postcard, they don’t sell anyways.”

“Thank you.” –I said, with a mediocre grin

Writing a note on the back would defeat the entire purpose of running away so I kissed it for good luck, which left a red lip stain in the musk back. I then tucked it in my leather jacket and took off on my bike.

I’ve been in this small Midwestern town for four days. People are starting to recognize me as an outsider. Tomorrow I will head out to avoid small talk and questions about who I am and where I am from.

Driving back to the motel I looked at the sun falling behind the clouds, a storm is coming. The sky turned a greyish green and the atmosphere was still. Not a person is out of their home and not a soul is traveling on the road. It’s just me trying to outrun the lightening, a race against the squall.

My room at the motel is on the bottom floor, making the second story a canopy from the falling drops of water. I pulled a fold out chair outside and listened to the pouring rain as a curiously stared at the “Crossroads of America” postcard that was gifted to me. The lipstick stain remained on the back as the senders address was left blank.

At this moment I thought about home. I thought about each person that was left behind and the reasons for that. Mostly, I thought about the friendships I replaced with lonesome days following the backs of cars on the open road. In this moment I thought about how selfish I was to leave. Regret left me slightly discouraged to continue on my journey.

I continued to stare at the blank address space. I thought if only there was a way to move forward without holding on to my past, but most importantly allow them to forget about my past.
I kissed the postcard again for good luck and got back on my bike, an exhilarating feeling driving in the pouring rain. This trip wasn’t intended to be long, just back to town. The sleek roads occasionally made my tired skid, but that did not stop me from accelerating my speed.

When I had reached a blue mailbox and held the handle for some time while nervously tapping the card with my other hand on my left leg.

I got back on bike even though I could hardly see the roads. The storm worsened but stopping now would only leave me in the middle of the country, between two corn fields, waiting out the storm. At the time, I thought it would be best to tough it out.

When I reached the final turn I skidded again, this time losing complete control. The bike tipped and slid until my entire body wrapped around a telephone pole. From then on, I only saw light. The sun beaming from the sky and all the worlds darkness escaped through the holes in the clouds. I rested there, peacefully, enjoying the sun’s rays drying my rain drenched body.

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It’s been months since any of us have heard from her, but I could never forget her handwriting, especially after years of passing notes in high school. I knew it was my best friend. This is her obscure way of telling me that she loves me and everything is ok. Secretes even from miles away are best kept between the greatest friendships. So I spoke to sky, thinking that her free spirit could hear me, “love you too.”