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.