Forget It

...aww, jus forget it...
...forget it, nevrmind...
.really, what?
...jus forget it...
.never knew it.
...jus forget it then...
.then what?
...well, jus forget it...
.forget what?
.can't forget nothing, really.
...forget I spoke...
.hard to forget.
...forgive me...
.for what?
...aww, jus forget it...

Imagination Of Time

.these are only reminders.
.it doesn't happen every year.
.the celebrations and readings.
.historical and foretold.
.the places are just places.
.only noteworthy now.
.this plot or that plot.
.no pilgrimages to the holy sites.
.all sites are holy in some way.
.the virtual too.
.imagination of time.


Lonely Dandelion

.just a lonely dandelion.
.blowing in the wind.
.grew up quick, all alone.
.the world broke you in.

.just another love of mine.
.you don't even know.
.oh my lonely dandelion.
.you are not your own.

.cause you need me and I love you.
.yes, you need me and I love you.

.born in all your glory.
.found all you could find.
.wrote a thousand stories.
.for the other dandelions.

.meet me there someday.
.after all your crimes.
.set your heart ablaze.
my lonely dandelion.



Punk It Up Some More

punk it up some more.
make it short and quick.
these emotions must be recognized as fake.
they can be made into something and left.
for our own benefit mainly.
like forgiveness, in a way.
a worthy selfish act.
although, One did, once, forgive unselfishly.
completely unselfishly.
to withhold forgiveness is selfish too.
more selfish, waiting for the other to ask.
but, to ask another to ask for your forgiveness seems a waste.
like a forced apology.
it's all aftermath.
the pure in heart, the peaceful, are in the Word.
translations are emerging.
far and wide.
applications and wireless.
the truth is in us.
it came from somewhere and someplace else.
in from the outside.
where we'll go again.
these murderers are choking in death.
their passion comes from fear.
life will crush them.
their end will be the pit.
ruthless and with cause.
enemies of The Lord.


Slightly Alone

Motivation deficient.
The particulars.
Moving like waves.
Disappearing and appearing.
In the sky to the east.

Slightly alone.
True friends and family.
No grudges of afflictions.
It was not their fault.
They are their own.

Heart attacks and cardiac arrests.
Throw them in the slammer too.
The tin tank.
With soldier guards.
With razor wire.

Bust out the folk records.
Guitar music and harmonies.
Stories of struggle.
This machine kills fascists.
And all the politics involved.


The Shoeshine


Tape the fists and spit the spit.
Getting toned and getting ripped.
Jump that rope one more time.
The way its done at the shoeshine.

Another run then lift them bells.
Legs are burning, feel like hell.
Spar with another in their prime.
The way its done at the shoeshine.

Before you step another step.
Or climb a rope in helplessness.
Call us, text us, either is fine.
The way its done at the shoeshine.


Gaming Room

.slow, like the minute hand.
.undeniable in movement.
.picking only the good spots.
.hardly a word spoken aloud.

.got left in the gaming room.
.where the portable bar is at.
.billiards and pinball machines.
.trophies and blue ribbons.


Beyond Our Sensibilities

     The final run.  Before the melting.  Without fear.  Despite the burn.  Hydrate and radiate.  Gravity engine.  Lean into the mountain.  Trust the edge.  Get warm and don't stop.  Quicker and smoother.  Quiet, long curves.  The groomed way.  Peak to peak.  Zach's Cabin views.  The stylish cat arrivers.  Private parking spots and waxings.  Hook ups.  The woods.  A plan devised and fulfilled.

     Dogs running loose in the flatlands.  Awakened rudely and abruptly.  Nasal noises and ice scrapers.  No drinks in here.  Only brew.  Where Aaron knows perseverence and what comes after.  Where Yuri sees visions of the future.  The dirtbag dunkel.  Then the bonfire dimmed for now.
     Cut the bullshit, God created evolution.  Beyond our sensibilities.  Like all good art.  Unanswerable riddles and a torn up song.  Independent thinking.  Roo walking on the corner of bull run.  The shy went away easy.  A silent night and the shut up blues.  Cold mountain air streaming through the windows.
     Popped that curve in Frisco.  Into the unknown.  The icy red cliffs.  Shelf driving at night.  The space warp and white lines.  Not feeling the road or speed.  Tracy Chapman jams getting us through.


The Ghostly Interpreter

     Trust, by it's very nature, is authentic.  It can only be felt by someone for someone or something else.  Trusting in ourself is ultimately futile.  Canes and magnifying glasses and doctor visits are a few examples of this truth.  We go to mechanics and chefs and jewelers.  Antimate and inanimate.  Everyone trusts someone or something else to do something for them at some point.  Self sufficiency is a myth.  The trust we give others is based on what they have done to be trusted.   It is not gained blindly and should not be given blindly.  If trust in someone is lost, it is through actions that trust is restored.  Intentions and promises are only a good start.  They can help lead to actions that regain trust from another, but too often the actions don't follow.  Or the motivations of the actions are not authentic and misaligned with the needs of the one giving the trust.  Authentic actions over time will produce authentic trust.  Faith is another matter.  It can only be received.  It is given by Word and The Ghostly Interpreter.


Up To Your Eyes

Top of the night.
The loudness is unusual and ever louder.
Cries and woes.
Whines of incredible proportions.
Whimpering slobber.
Perhaps the night will continue on.
For awhile.
Our time and understanding.
Only for a song.
A daydreaming son of a bitch.
Delusions and time.
Up to your ears in complaints and requests.
Up to your eyes in love.