I just found a bag of poems I’d written over the years.  Some of them survived my bunnies’ nom nomalypse.  Some have all of the first or last or middle parts completely chewed away.  Others are mainly non magnetic refrigerator phrases with hair stuck to them.  That’s where interpretive dance comes in handy.  Picture me…and probably a one finger salute…and maybe an old Ice Cube song.  For some reason he’s been in the playlist recently.  Here is one that was mostly intact.  ish.  

Editor’s note:  If Monty Python’s Holy Grail ever comes up non sensically, it’s because I’ve absorbed it through osmosis.  It makes more sense to me than most things.  The world would be a better place if we all rode invisible horses and had minstrels

 

I remember laughing here

More than once into breathlessness.

They’re stepping on plastic now,

wishing it were glass

because scars seem to have a way of making the journey

(the selfies)

more interesting.

On the outside anyways.

I don’t remember her ever smiling at me

But she did

Just now

In a way that seemed to ask:

You sure you want to go down that road again?

I came in a different way this time

where the angles aren’t as steep.

A man with no teeth used to stop by here

to ask what I’d become.

He’s gone now.

I heard the needle was still in his arm two weeks later.

They found him and a note

that said only that the light was changing.

Learning about love’s role in life

requires winding through the finer times.

Mastering the art of falling into the space

where the moon holds her tiniest secrets close.

Just beneath the skin surface

as though a small flower were planted

or picked

or blossomed

to mark the passage of the times nobody ever speaks about.

Those scars are ones we hide even from ourselves.

Learning about love and life

necessitates the mirror being touched and touched again

from the inside out.

And sometimes not knowing what will fall away or who

makes you better at being quiet.

Most people really only turn up for the afterparty.

I trace circles in the sand now.  Try to write my name in spaghettios.

Sometimes god comes to visit

Asks me for a light and if I’ve got the time

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