Tall window into the world. My Fishbowl.

Tall clear window,

Gives me a view, with a seat in-front of it

that supports the writer and the words that swell out of a

mangled mess of jello like brains.

Mixed amongst the words sweet sugar cookies and cream invading black

night liquid.

Jitters, shaking arms, a shot of energy and consciousness

Words of unfiltered sorts tumble out as the people on the pavement

walk by, cycle by, drive by in metal boxes with strange wheels that move

moving somewhere, going somewhere.

I am supported by a hard wooden chair that absorbs nothing.

Sitting waiting for the words to tumble out, in the right order?

Never really since words have a mind of its own and a strange new order to bring order to the disorderly.

Later perhaps tomorrow the sense of the words make sense or none at all.

Maybe if I look outside the words will make sense?

Two hours later…

I wonder where time went.

The coffee is gone, as did the sugar.

Hello words what can I do with you today?

 

 

 

Postaday

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After the warmth is gone.

Shiver shiver oh the coldness of the bamboo mat
isn’t doing its duty when the night air is cold, and I need some warmth to
lull me asleep. Where is that snuggling bird to regulate the heat?
Take away my excesses of energy, adjust my mood , and keep me sane.
Can it not be that I’m drinking too much. Coffee? Caffeinated drinks, to spike my consciousness into overdrive, limbs are trembling out of my control. I am sensitive. Too much. I cannot bear anymore. Sweetness begone! I cannot have you. I have other things to do and you are not among it in my to do list.

Red String

There’s a red red cord that only you and I can see.
It winds around you in circles tightly but not enough to bind you. Only one line extends from you to me a link between you to me. No one can see this. Its our connection that we know exists. I can call to you by tugging on my end of the cord, sending silent messages in hope that they reach you.

That line between you and I is as long as it needs to be. Sometimes its a meter, other times no space at all, and at times on the other side of what I know exists. Over that horizon and a few more is you. Living, working, knowing of this faintly present bond. A round circle on a wall marks the hour, counts down the time till that line shortens elastically to zero.

He’s gone far away

Far away from my hand
my arm, me
He is not by my side
in physical presence
I am now aware that I am
ill with a desire to
be back together again
where two halves
make the chubby round whole
egg again
like yolk to white
cat to its nip
chocolate to the lady
and everything nice
For awhile and some time more
the world will be a bit
off
off kilter where two beings embrace the
earth in hope that the distance
dissipates and no amount of air is too far
in this day, this moment where there is an
electric connection
between that egg and that white
to make something fascinating
so fantastic that the girl would
cry happily with joy
that she could have that chocolate
as if he stepped through a window
in a frame in an instant
that need that want could be
calmed for just awhile
a little while
where the chocolate melts pleasantly
and mixes into her.

The White Furry beast next door

The large white beast next door

I found last morning swiping at

my dearest children.

One child was lost

the others thankfully are

safe from that cat.

I didn’t know that the tulip

children are poisonous

to that cat.

But why does she have to

behead my children.

When their life is already so short

in growth, the blooming petals

reach skyward

and give some colour into this world of mine.

Cut short by sharp claws

cut short by beheading.

Drudgery of Existence

The toughest decision is to live. Unhindered by oppression or racism, I drudge on forward.  I make the choice to live in chaos, when I could escape simply by ending this miserable life. There are days I am appalled by how one’s own existence is unexplainable and for what know reasons we exist. Bound by existence yet free to end it with death. I feel lost at that junction yet I still continuously choose to evade the latter, death. Knowingly I occupy my time with trifles, mere materialistic minuscule goals to pass time. The energies from monotony subliming onto pressing moral and intellectual boundaries. Continue reading