One Street too Soon

There comes a point you get

to caught up to notice. Forgetting

what used to be—what used to 

be spectacular. I don't want to

forget, but I do. The fact that I 

do makes my skin melt into

a swamp and I glide along the

curb block after block. I'm not 

always alone; you're there too 

sometimes. Yet, even when you're

there you are also a mushy swamp.

When will I become a solid again?

When will we become solid 

again? 

Growing Seed

deep waters

heavy black clutch

slipping sanity

swim with me

will you?

into this dark

abis of chronological

order

I'll go missing for 

missing that moment

seize the day they say

don't loose what you

don't already have

you'll know why when

your light goes out 

"Okay"

I've been left with

a handkerchief that 

has turned a mustardy 

yellow. It's aged as we

have. It's often left in

the garage next to 

tools for things I'm not

sure of. It has come into

many uses in it's time;

it shows up to clean 

up—other times it

disappears