Untitled

Here is a series of questions you may ask yourself. I give you permission.

What is play?  Why am I not playing?

How are you?  Why do I care so little?

How much time?  How better to fill it?  How not to fill it with drivel?

Where did that feeling, idea, notion, unction, lubrication, go to?  How do I get it back?

Who is?  Who isn't?

Are you really this close?  Why do I rarely notice?

of sickness and health and middling

i am living in
short bursts
of edge-less entertainments
like a cloud casting her weight
ground-ward
without choice her lots
cast by matter's chances;
both a pure and confusing
calculus

i am sick in
long drawn periods
such as week's end
that found me
couch-ward like
a potato resting
in the cool ground
waiting for the the rain
and a fast and
purposed pull from
iron tines

and as i sick and health
the days asunder;
i am middling with
the least of these.
as a monk
out of cloister,
as a nun without
habit,
to be sans a right nor a left

"The Colossus' Glass" Diner Scene: Part Four

 Benjamin took the bite, leaned back and tried to swallow as fast as he could without chewing. While inwardly he was bracing himself for whatever sting his mouth may have to endure, outwardly he put on a smile as though he were enjoying a bite of warm chocolate cake.

Gulp. “Wow, those are so good.” Benjamin forced a smile.

“Are they now?” Crispin grinned knowingly with his eyebrows raised in anticipation. “Alright then. Jenny, would you be so kind as to fetch Oliver for me. I believe his shift is almost over and I may require his assistance momentarily.”

To Benjamin’s surprise, he felt fine. He felt nothing, actually, no burning in his mouth, only a smoky-sweet flavor. “Why do you need his help?” Benjamin asked.

“I don’t, actually.” Crispin replied, studying Benjamin’s face amusedly. “You do.”

“I do?” Benjamin asked. Jenny hurried off to the kitchen with a sigh. “Why do I nee--?” Benjamin stopped short, noticing that as each syllable poured from his mouth, so did a small puff of smoke. Before he could try to understand this, however, his vision began to blur and go yellow. His hearing, too, became muffled, as though he had water in his ears. He noticed beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow, and then beneath his eyes, and then in his armpits, and his feet. Then, it hit him.

“WATER!!!!”

“Oh dear.” Crispin sighed.

Angus heard Benjamin scramble for his ice water, and felt half of it splash up onto his arm as Benjamin tried to pour it all in one gulp down his throat. “Don’t worry, now.” Crispin spoke calmly over Benjamin’s seething breaths. “You’re in no danger.”

As Benjamin slammed Angus’s and Crispin’s glasses of water, Angus heard two pairs of feet approach the table. The first, which he figured were Jenny’s, were quiet and could hardly be heard over the second, which were spaced out much farther apart, and made a deep THUMP with each fall.

“A delicious breakfast as per usual, Oliver,” Crispin said to whatever large thing had just made its way to the table. “Though I’m afraid young Benjamin here didn’t exactly enjoy his sample.”

Oliver Gasped. “Oh no!” Angus was shocked that he both heard and felt Oliver’s voice, which was perhaps the deepest Angus had ever heard. “Has he—“

“Not yet.” Crispin replied.

“WATER!!!!!!!”

Jenny walked away to help another table, and Angus heard her sigh “Men…”

“Has he what?” Angus asked, his worried voice betraying to Crispin the growing concern for his brother’s well-being. “Is he going to be ok?”

“He’ll stop smoking in a moment—“

“He’s smoking?!”

“—And then he’ll go into shock.”

“SHOCK?!”

“WATER!!!!!!!!!!” Benjamin thrashed around, trying to reach for a glass of water in the booth behind them, but then stopped as he turned back around, dropping the water.

“Oop,” Crispin said. “here we go.”

Angus felt Benjamin slowly slide downward in the booth, pause for a moment, let out a sleepy-sounding groan, and flop onto the floor.

“Ben?” Angus waited for a response.

I break for cars.

These automobile dreams

Have broken my legs in their

Lifeless aluminum and greasy

Glass shinning at me

Shinning me back at me

And I feel so small because

My reflection is redirected

I cannot read about myself in time magazine

I do not see me on the TV

I am two steps away from the fame

I am one step and out of the game

The puddles insult my shoes

As the radio sings the songs

I might have wrote if I’d had

My pen ready, the ink is wet

Against another blank masterpiece

And the man with the camera

Is waiting for the call

Hold Fast

The end had a name
and it is forgotten
The end has an end
and it shall be called now

north of it

drifted into form 

a pile of thought like snowflakes

that the cold crafted

with her hard fists
further and further 

into our minds

like blood 

like a golden glove

like a thing that we were given and never wanted.

here 

on the wings of the western

winds 

she wanders into visions;

rusty old vehicles

in vast heaps,
the wastelands of 

a field north of the river's bending.

those tired and retired tools

left behind from forgotten works 

done by dry and calloused hands

with weary faces 

on bitter and miserable days

like this one.

stay the course

the keys are in the ignition

hallelujah bye and bye

it’s ready, set, go

gravel roads lead to simplicity or implicit city

the beaten path is set

it’s a stumbling walk and a guessing game

but in the end i’ll walk in between the line

avoiding the grave, all the same

courageous tears fall to shaking knees

speak heart and listen to it’s beat

as the snare drum traps our mutiny

keeping us in line as honesty

pursues freedom and truth

i’ll fly away oh glory