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~