Tucked in a thought

The archetype of yesterday frozen on the edge of the balcony -
winter’s frosted memory dandered in the left over snow.
The sun chips away at winter’s handiwork,
thawing out the shadows.
Spring has always been a muddy thing -
churned up grit and dirt.
Spring thrives in browns and yellows
long before she puts on her make up.
Or he puts on his make up.
Spring already fading cold dark days.
Winter slips into the past passed
all those frozen dreams now thawing.
I fall in love with these moments
when the brassy noise of sunrise
promises a new day. Hope lives here.
Possibility lives here, and here I am
hoping on my balcony for the sheer bliss
when spring has sprung
and winter has become the memory.
march 3rd 2018. a.r.morgan

the first sketch

I slip fingers between yours,

a perpendicular cross of flesh

giving Vulcan kisses to your crevices;

we take turns peaking

at the naughty punch line, revealing

secrets from our own cache

of discovery under covers

in our bed time story telling.

Curiosity knows the body.

Composition #3

We raked away the fresh top layer until dark ooze of morphing leaves scraped the rake. We took our pitch fork and scooped then shed the composting earth into our buckets. That was the final layer to our installation. Swales and berms replacing cement, we created habitat growing again. We carried parcels of soil to the trailer and trailer to swale.  Elements in nature brought forward. My leaves left a few seasons did their work and we have some good earth deep inside.

Composition #2

I accidentally broke the canopic jar.

It went thunk then crack. A fault line

and fissure sent the milky remnants

gurgling onto my floor. My pinky toe

got wet. I was moving a box

from the closet. I forgot you were up there

then you came tumbling down,

your bulbous jar smacking the ground,

clinking

            remember.

 And I do.

The goo, sticking to my toe nail,

The aged tears, in a shallow grave,

wrapped in a shroud. Not sure what

to do with you, I hitched the loss to the post of memory,

stashed on a shelf, exposed to the elements

of my dim lit closet letting spiders spin

the epitaph. Until one day, tussled memory

met the ground.

You always were such a mess. 

a.r. morgan 

I accidentally broke the canopic jar.

Haiku: note to self

contrary to thought,
pearled gems of missing you
lies an unwise path.

sketchbook: Dad

In response to the question, what advice, story, words I'd give a new dad:

all those scribbled words written in a life time crinkled with my dad's name. our relationship is thus, the best gift i ever gave him was a simple framed picture of his smiling dog, Rocky, he saved from a dog beater while we were kids. My best lessons were learned from how he had us raise that dog. The other advice, Dad and daughter speak best in music passed back and forth between each other.

abstract(ing) feeling

off to bed. a double at work tomorrow. my spider senses tell me i have a surprise trip ahead of me. i think i know where i'll be early November. could we make it late?

i think i have control.
repeating to those loose ends,
frayed waves saluting the wind,
i got this.

set my days up between sunrise and sunset
sunset and sunrise
 swaying

i always knew this
        i know nothing.

a skew view

feel. that's deeper than i've been these days.
i could go for a little of that
i'm feeling. its there,
happy, excited, afraid, sour, sore, hopeful, numb, sweet lemony.
is knowing a feeling?
internal healing?
i don't want to go there

disconnected. reflected perspective
seeping into this mirror deep.
overwhelming even me.

so much praise my way these days, people
those external things that walk around me
and remember the things I say
i'm only seeing their beauty. and they keep giving it back
except

it reminds me i am connected. you. me. us. love is all i got.
all
        i
           know
                     how
                                to be.
  sometimes its crass. i'm too brazen.
i turned my curse long ago into a gift, my present.
this presence holding your story high
because i'm in there. liberated.
liberating you in me. makes sense, see.

lets dance, play and sing. tear down these fears and face travesty with a new thought.
it was there with the fear think all along. i see this, my inter connectivity sings.

its too much for me. haha.
 the tangled mess i weave to simply not see
i'm not ready to go home,
 stare down my mother's mortality.
and me, no feeling.

its there disconnecting.

its home, why would i ever feel anything? keep a page. lock it up tight. digesting. deer god,
let me sing

i'm going home. and i don't want to.
i don't got this.
i have no control.
at least i see.
witch     means
i got this.
this going sucks, but i'll be fine.
dam it.
gurgled sigh,
four-year old temper rant
upward-facing dog into adult
collapse in surrender

will someone just hold me?

scattered

completely detached from my emotions
like retinas

hurricane

Sometimes evaporating waves set sail.

Dissipating energy settle into a molecule of thought,

The ocean swelling kisses towards the sun burnt sailors

Fading away into the air catching on currents.

the air boisterously coddle and plays,

water at her most benign.

air opens this new sea,

warm caresses cresting,

swirling pockets of breath

exhaled in wind,

enticing the ocean to rise,

pressing her rhythms allegro.

And then the dance begins.

past the horizon

the soul storm breaks
those waves settle down,
i watch the horizon glow crimson.

i don't know about your process,
but i have faith in mine -
the tickled laughter from the universe
snickered assurance.

tonight a friend brought me home
on a motorcycle.
ripening earth and jasmine
plume the air
exorcising the lungs
of all that gravity,
i float into my own
moving canvass
become the bike, the road,
the jasmine growing.

i don't know about tomorrow.
i heard many promises
and beautiful pictures painted
awaited there,
held fast,
always a distance off the horizon
like heaven promised to our suffering.
if i love jesus,
i'll be loved someday.
if i loved you,
someday you'd take the time
to return it.

nah, baby.
the universe rumbled in tail pipes
announcing my time.
i guess i'll meet you at the horizon
if i ever get there.
i'd promise, but there is enough broken.

~Broadway pink

Help me find the dimensions in my golden ratio.
I'm tapped out.

Five More Minutes

She lingered in bed letting the blankets gobble up her conscious thoughts that tried to escape into the growing daylight.  Fresh sprigs of memory punched holes through the darken cocoon warmly wrapped around the resisting, she didn’t want to remember she had to go to work or that she needed to call her Mother. Her body wanted to remain prostrate in the soft caresses of cotton sheltering her obligatory rise, postulating flight with wingless arms cutting the horizon in ribbons as she floated high.  The canopy tickled her feet at first until she learned to flex her toes en pointe, dancing on the tips of branches bouncing her weightless body higher until she could breathe in the clouds and exhale the smoky rings allowing her to fly on her back. There was something about playing chicken with the unflinching ground spinning like a bullet’s head inches before impact only to thrust her arms upward as if she was really diving into the deep blue sky and felt the self splash into the currents of air. This seemed more possible than the mundane trajectory of her day – thimble fingers teaching others how to sow feathers on the shoulder blades.  She clung to swaddling dreams, a renegade of reality, promising in five more minutes she might give something to the waking day.

sketchbook: tangential flight

There is no place like home, unless you're homeless, then there is no place like a home.

I want out of all the boxes. Too many folded up cardboards in my life.

The cocoon is getting itchy. Its stuffy in here too.

I love how the major economic boost in this State are the marijuana clinics. Be sick, get a pot card, boost the economy. Key words: Be sick.

Funny, people struggling with alcoholism are sick too. 

typing away the dark into dawn

The last few days went like this. Work, then travel, some sleep, rise and take Mom to the surgery; exploding histories regressing against malignity in the day, surgery, then more purgatory until I could no longer stay. Off I go into the dark, park myself on the train and arrive in time to become employee. Sleep and then rise again in the night to repeat the employment part. I believe I managed to shower a couple of times.

...Instead of walking the streets a zombie, I take a taxi into work, letting the quiet ride pull me through the foggy canvas. The stark winter light washed away in the receding snow, spring begins her work in the hazy smudging of lamp lights...

...I return once again to the stranger typing away the dark into dawn.
~excerpt~

On my mind: ADHD of the brain today

~My mother's breast cancer.
~the color purple and the way it sneaks into the beam of light that stretches across my room.
~Wisconsin and their politicians.
~The dishes I haven't washed.
~My bike in the closet that I am ready to ride.
~Still, my cat I gave up.
~Am I giving my mother enough of what she needs right now?
~Spontaineity vs. impulsivity
~Second Solitude
~Cellular memory
~butterflies
~Egypt
~Sleep
~breakfast with my fave peeps this morning
~why new staff keep trying to reinvent the wheel. Its a wheel, it goes around. Unless you can make it move smoother, please stop adding to the squeaks.
~3rd wave feminism is still missing a key voice in sexuality.
~someday women will move past emmulating mysogyny to empower their sexuality (This includes the mistress syndrome)
~saw a dog catcher yesterday with a butterfly net. it was ACME surreal.
~practicing loving kindness as a radical act, because it apparently is one.
~over nights suck my soul, but i love the work.
~lists
~all that weird lightening from last night.
~trainrides
~planerides
~the overwhelming obligations this week that cannot meet my sleep patterns for the over nights.
~laughter that purrs from the throat and tickles the air.
~Taxi drivers' opinions
~oatmeal (I love that stuff)
~a warm sweater
~a loose blouse
~building faith in a world that roots for the underdog but expects the bad people to rise to power.
~Art that is produced with empathy, not self genuflection
~courage despite fear
~a new show to watch
~a new hair cut
~those tv avangelists who keep preaching revelations and islamic extremists (can't we do it redneck style and have them go to the backyard? Let the ignorant sh!ts duke it out until they are tired while the rest of us focus on building a new world for all?)
~brain candy
~I know very few people who are not addicted to alcohol, pot, or food
~I believe we can get past anxiety without xanax, ativan, and pot.
~all emotions have a root in reason, its about learning to not feed them negative reactions.
~everyone calls certain feelings love, but few know how to actually produce love in action, thereby nulling their feeling as something less like lust, attraction, obsession.
~Vegans need to remember their existence is a priveledge, still please keep making it possible for the rest of us, but stop with the judgements - you come off like right wing Christians. Not cool.
~Christians who insist I am a sin for being gay/queer. Hello! We have more important things to fight to save like our environment, our children, our crumbling economy.
~The beautiful sound of rain falling.
~The way the sun can warm the face on a cold winter day.
~what am I going to eat for breakfast?
~My mother's breast cancer

cocooning

its warm in here.

thumbnail ramble

Waiting for the taxi to take me to work. I have a deal with the drivers, making it slightly cost effective. The buses don't start until 8am and in the mornings 8am is when I need to be there.  I know so many stories about the taxi business in this town. I met the dude who took a felon to a "titty bar" while the police radio was describing his passenger in the backseat to a T. I met a driver who was twenty years sober and happy. He taught me which roads were the cheapest to work. And then there was this woman, broke down the fee and what not to pay in tips. Usually they act as if we never met, but we pick up on the stories wherever they may be. I can tell the dispatch folks who remember me and sometimes I get "Off to work again". Eh, I feel lucky.

I got up early this morning so I could push time. Get quiet, get coffee, read a little newspaper and listen to music. Now time is almost up to change my form into worker and I'm pushing the envelope a little longer. 5 minutes. The taxi should be here.

Guess I'll stop for now.

It is time

To get the funk out.
To let the words flow.
To show you the world from my senses. I ate banana chips yesterday. Let my tongue investigate the sweet precipice, tip to roof, before sliding it between the teeth, crunching the smell of banana, filling the back of the throat and then swallow. Simple. No revelations. No ecstatic brilliance slipping into the brain. Just me and this banana chip, and I was happy.
To come out of the shell.
To stay in the shell.
To bring me here.
To do what I have always done...
To live my life.

stark winter day

Lay your head down

                                       against my chest

             I will pet your mane.

Let your hands investigate       the curves of my reprieve,

                                 subtle strokes across my spine.

We will take comfort 

                                        you and I.