sometimes a glance to the sky, materializes in thought…

sometimes a glance to the sky, materializes in thought…

the nervous ones
perhaps the influence
of the gray-
amorphous
an endless ceiling of fog
a oneness
concealing unknowns,
outline angles shadows dart
to and through
to and fro
back and forth
more chaos than dance
less grace than chance

the lack of pattern
the lack of calm
in this suffocating dome of visual dissonance-
for even a tornado has form,
the world
all very still now
save- for the nervous birds
panic set to erratic
their movements

eat at my will
gnaw the ends of my bones
as they prattle back and forth

notes… just looking out of my window at work, one of those rainy days well, that does not rain, sort of dreary, and in between, I would rather have rain, and it was a weird day anyway, I got home @ 3am from work, I was converting a supermarket computer system in Hempstead NY… I do enjoy learning all the little nooks and crannies of the tri state area but those hours you always run into all sorts of construction, it is a bit disheartening when you are trying to cross the verrazanno at 3 am and you have to navigate all sorts of orange cones and what not… it is a bit surreal… most of the world is asleep (at least locally) but you are chugging along trying to get home, and still pacing $13 tolls on the EZ pass… and as usual this is something I wrote off the cuff, a few adjustments here and there but mostly as I jotted it down today…

lights…

lights…

lights in the tunnel
by chance
by circumstance
the nexus of all history in a fleeting glance
through one doorway that led to a singular path
so two lights – became a pair
to navigate the darkness – as a binary star

long straight and winding foot on bare
a litter of babes with which to bear
and so once the road came dark fork
a separation aimed to dim such spark
(for a time)
for even death will not restrain (for all time)

the pair once ordained to be as one
reunited now somewhere gone
from this world – somewhere beyond
these lights in the tunnel
at once-more one

notes… this poem is dedicated to my late aunt and uncle, they died apart in some ways, but in some ways together… nothing was the same since my uncle passed, not just in my house I might guess, I hear things come in threes, maybe this was three, my uncle, my father, my aunt, more of a trio that might be a tornado for my mother, I wonder, she knew them all longer, and closer, and the family has not recovered, covid has sapped whatever ‘together’ was left it seems, I hope I am wrong, but I have more faith in being right on this one (but I still hope), it doesn’t seem worth the fight if you are the only one fighting the dam breaking, especially since you are not the one who built it, you are just downstream from the cemented choices others made.. and the guilt and grime… the weight of that, unable to shed, even after death… the past can never be won, sure, you can fight it all you want, but you can never win, we all do it, myself included, but looking out a window out onto the broken meadows of others makes it so easy to see…

the music, this is always about timelessness to me, orbital was ahead of their time, intelligent and evocative in a genre not always known for such things, they were different, an amalgamation and inspiration… one of those bands that I found at the right time and also a glaring reminder of my failures, they came around in Miami at their peak and I was pissed at the missus, I opted not to go, in principal, and being a stubborn moron, willing to die on my cross of principles rather than give in for an evening, and they were really good tickets seat wise, but I had my pride, my dumb pride, now I have a great memory of not going, with the one I loved more than anything, just out of spite, a dumb fight, and yes, retrospect is so easy, but so is level headed thinking, I could have a hall of fame of regret…

I also wonder how many people even read this far, these are my true thoughts, not just my art, I just hope with all my babbling I have helped a person or two to realize their own foibles, maybe then this is all worth it, until then I will keep shooting spitballs into the universe…

fault, and reconciliation…

fault, and reconciliation…

;fault bucket-
I wonder what brigade

might save
as I pass
hand to hand
so I might learn
to trust
again
for at the end
may empty
my burdens;

notes…. form in a way here, flow, like water rhythm wise, and also I meant this to look like a tipped bucket if you can see my visual clues (punctuation and it leans to one side if weighed on a scale perhaps)… sometimes I do things such as this… the funny thing is that the genesis of this thought, this poem ? researching an error in windows… seriously what more of a dork could I be… but always the muse she is guiding me, on a shoulder, in a vein… who knows? maybe I am insane… all the same, we all are to some degree, depends on the influences we listen to I suppose, I will stick by the mystery of the muse, I will… especially if it really is Selma Hayek...

the flounder…

the flounder…

of course there is always the cliché, the interview question, the ponder, whether a serious psychological expedition or some tactic to make you sweat, or a silly distraction…

if you could be an animal, what would it be and why?

I don’t know if it was the mood, or the food, or the passing breeze that deposited the idea in my mind this time, for some reason the thought gave me a modicum of comfort, for I, want to be a flounder, starting life looking like any other, but changing over time, eye migrating across the line, near perfect camouflage to allow for rest, I love the ocean as well, so that fits… but most importantly as this thought struck down in my head, I would always be looking up, and perhaps I should… this is no fluke !

I think I could make a series of children’s books on this theme “wouldn’t you like to be”… I never really considered writing a children’s book, I always liked the idea of penning a novel, but that has not exactly ever come to pass as yet, this seems natural in this case, I can picture this to be laced with positive psychological undertones now that I really think about it…