the malaise

the malaise

summer seems like a passing thought, as the days wind down into longer stretches of shadow now, subtle and sudden this seems, the decorations strewn about my driveway, my windshield, my mailbox, a myriad of the colors of dawn signify the cycle is moving ever forward to the end, yes, the sweet smell, a hint of decay, upon closer inspection the age spots tell the real tale of this festival on eyes, one last glorious burst as the sun slides out of reach, for a time, the now feels like a lingering but will soon be the past, as all things, time spins forward, hearts beat, children grow into grand old age, and the world spins away, sometimes I wish to be the cleverest man alive, and capture all this, harness all this, hold all this, a moment, in my mind, my belief out-paces reality, somehow I know this, but I would rather reside in the beauty of hope, of the other side, of another spring.

doubt, creeping, even in the impervious.

doubt, creeping, even in the impervious.

rattling;;
If I am so impervious
if my armor so impeccable
the unmitigated gate of my plate
the glimmer blinds others in the sun,
then the words of said others
shall have no quarter here;
whisper mills-
gin mills-
water talk,
should then not bother me
like this at all-
rattling;;

notes: I am generally one to not care about the words of others, I pride myself that way, I present myself that way, but I suppose not the most stout fort has a fault, or a weakness, sometimes, the words seep in, like poison, like reason, and I am as much as human as all… even if I pretend to hold myself above it all…

function. (the nature of)

function. (the nature of)

there stands no reason
to interrogate the vulture
for we know where

his beak has been
in between

flesh and bone
in between.
-function;
not I, peacock.

question the nature of self, or at least look in the mirror for the reveal… so? what’s in your nature?

the survival imperative…

the survival imperative…

Photo by Harrison Candlin on Pexels.com

in the awakening
might I tread lightly on
as the sky explodes with dreams
spread tethered out on cotton streams

a requiem for a thief,
for I am-
a consumer of all things
until I become threadbare, myself
a baron of composition
bereft of fruit
to wither into the aether
to claim my time
to cling to life
I, survive.

notes… we slide in and out of this existence to fast in cosmic time… I hope this is just a train stop in the converging line of time and dimensions…