writing

I Just Woke up

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3:18 A.M.,

And the conditioned air,

Is frigid,

To the inside,

Of my nose.

But it’s sweltering,

Underneath,

This duvet,

And I can’t find,

The right position,

To be in.

I lie on my back,

Then turn my head,

And face the wall.

Every time,

I close my eyes,

I can hear the wind blow,

Every few seconds or so.

I stand up,

Throwing off my covers,

To put on,

A sweatshirt.

I sit on the green lawn chair,

On the porch,

Feeling,

The calming breezes,

Come by.

I blink,

Between breaths,

And awaken at,

5:41 in the morning.

Vinyl

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Walking,

Blindfolded,

Through the annals,

Feeling the walls,

And using echolocation.

The ancient texts,

Sacred incantations,

Chants of legends,

Contained in texture,

To be deciphered,

By a stylus,

Which cannot,

Transcribe.

Each pressing,

With its own,

Character.

Each batch with,

It’s own,

Flaws,

Hissing,

Popping,

Scratches,

Not even counting,

The shattered ones.

Revolutions,

Dictate,

No matter,

How convoluted,

The labyrinth,

Until it’s time,

To switch,

To the other side.

You Will get Away With it

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Every so often,

I hear the doorbell ring,

When I’m not expecting company.

Sometimes,

I look through the peep hole,

And see nothing at all,

“Damn kids,”

I’ll say,

Presumptively.

Sometimes,

It’s just the mailman,

So I sign for something,

Then he’s on his merry way.

But once in a while,

It’s you,

“Come on in,”

I say.

“Take a seat,”

I’ll go get some drinks,

And snacks.

We relax,

Tell some stories,

To fill in the gaps,

“It’s been too long,” you say.

I know it has,

“But I cannot stay,”

I also know that,

“Take your time,”

Glad I could give you,

Some of mine.

When you stand up, 

With your arm,

Half in your jacket,

I ask nothing more of you.

When there’s nothing left to say,

All I want,

Is to be sure,

For now,

That you’re doing okay.

Royal Jelly

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An odd, viscous concoction,

Consisting mostly of water,

Amino acids,

Sugars,

Vitamins,

And other nutrients,

Served up,

Neat,

In a queen cup.

One protein,

Royalactin,

Gives aspiring queen’s,

Political careers,

Traction.

They feast,

Learn etiquette,

Mature,

And leave,

To settle-down,

Fill power vacuums,

And form factions.

Duos

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If it takes two to tango,

Then I must be the hammer to your anvil,

The apple to your mango,

The pan to your handle.

You’re the pictures on my mantle,

The flaming wick in a candle,

The bones in my ankle.

The Vandals,

Have returned to wrangle,

And some things are scrambled,

Dismantled,

And trampled.

But let’s not untangle,

Over just one scandal,

We’re not in shambles,

And  it would ruin the preamble.

The Rules of Engagement

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We played chicken,

Until the plot thickened,

There was some kicking,

And I was stricken,

And honestly sickened.

Then came the blowback,

And backlash,

Followed by attacks,

Without tact.

We acted,

Like brash asses,

In the pool,

But that’s no place for cruel fools,

Only honorable duels,

Which follow the rules.

Only with conviction

To consistent conventions,

Can Chicken be played.

It demands surgeon-like steady hands,

A strong stance,

And some symmetry,

Balance,

And good ground game.

Without those pieces,

The game ceases,

Animosity increases,

For no good reason.

Mycelium

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The mushroom,

As it is known,

Is the tip of the fungal iceberg,

So to speak.

Beneath the fruiting body,

In the crux,

Is an interconnected,

Root and chute structure,

That undergirds,

The organism.

An unseen web,

Of white matter,

That provides a foundation.

A loose, scattered scaffold,

That aids the fungus in digestion.

In a superficially cerebral way,

Think of it like this:

The white matter,

In your brain,

Is a network,

Of axons,

That allows you to understand,

Various axioms,

And maxims,

And act on them.

You may not be aware of it,

Or scarcely know of such a thing,

But it’s presence is felt,

Nonetheless.

Hello, Sunshine!

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I sigh,

From where I lie,

Chin held high,

While my eyes imbibe,

The flowing sky,

And all is right.

It’s an unusually bright,

Afternoon,

Already.

Leaves of grass,

Are weaved,

Underneath,

My back-

My hair and clothing,

Have dandelion seeds,

Clinging to them.

“The garden returns,

The flowers bloom, the weeds rise,

All from the sun’s rays.”

I sit up,

And feel the light,

Caress my face,

Hit my hair,

Warm my shoulders.

“Hello, Sunshine!

I’m glad you’ve stopped by,

Thanks for everything.”

Mellow Drama

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Little things mean a lot,

Especially when they happen,

But sometimes it means more,

When they don’t.

The taste,

Of the empty space,

Where the once-whole,

Chocolate ice-cream scoop was.

The faint, jolting pangs of pain,

You feel,

A few seconds after,

The impact,

Of your pinky toe,

With a table leg.

When you find out,

That anticipated plans,

Made four days in advance,

To do nothing at all,

Are cancelled now.

You don’t live in fear,

Of good things gone bad,

Normally,

Because it should be no big deal,

Until it’s nothing at all,

Then it is.