Sketches

1.

Vacant Mind
Dead Air Stare
Space So Spacious
Between Here And There
Not Too Much

I forget

He is tired of the word games, he is tired of it all.
We can watch cartoons and laugh like carefree children.
Or get toasty and chain-smoke, discussing music and life. He might go away and become a monk. There's a monastery in southeast China that accepts white people.
I tell him that they better or I'll kick their asses.
He is pissed about being under appreciated or broke or sex-less.
And suddenly,
I forget how to open up.

Rememory of all

Rememory of all that he taught and now to obscure what long ago should have been spotlighted.
My heart weakens in memory and my breath deepens to prevent collapse.
Amazing how effective the breath.

Steady Waters

You have a new love, my love. You are smiling again. Nothing left to say. Our ship never sailed, it sits in the harbour.

Retreat

The endless commentary on the shortcomings of human nature.
The perpetual breathless desperation of the loveless.
The mad rants and excitatory ravings of common lunatics.
The pretty picture posts of the natural world. Pretty picture posts period.
An entire subversive culture of sexual addiction, pornography, domination, handing over of power...
Erotica.
Mundane writings. Odd writings. Interesting and curious perspectives.
The man I think I love.
And why I must retreat.

...

He is the image of the dark
A tall bare tree growing bark, hard for protection
Against all elements of nature that would rage to destroy him
She clings to his branches
She swings, a tight rope
Wishing on tender buds that flower
Listening to bird calls and seeing the owl's watching eye

..

The wind stirs around my head and his spirit whispers to me words in another language
But I think I recognize this haunting voice