slower pace

there, when then was once, floating above that primal and ported sea. the road lifted and caught clean air at eighty. captured and congruent, the lanes were wide enough but still split for spirit. feet on rise and grip pinned, four doors slid quickly by at best and uniform, to hear those amongst caged. said in twenty or less. the nerve, lioness, and nostalgia. riddle me that storyboard. frequent flyer miles on blast, that bay, that blue pokagon bay. the cities never looked so good from up here, the streets so warm to touch. summers here and spring began to begin again. you've slipped, past present and into this.

welcomed, calmly welcomed.  

stumbled

across this flattened earth and almost slipped.

"because wht isnt real is genuine illusion."

Full moons and half hollowed empty evenings. The thoughts that worlds apart coincide with, nestled and warning. The lights down low, fog is on as the the birds swing sing and sway. It's now good morning with Midwest and who will be the first to turn on in. The rising Tides turned as the contrast of asking one... verses saying the other... determine the routine. This isn't the seeping, this life lesson, it's the timing of the next heated season. So spring and every needed seed so red to trick the avianistic ones from above. The hollow whittled and dry white bones they have. First I'm flight. A fever pitched from the initial sting. A casual roll, a caved destination, a ritualistic course of actions held closer. A provided wonder as an abled wander. Hey there and Hennepin

at least music at last.

stop making sense. silence as the answer found in song. its either way and two waged. fevered flood of memories. first watch at last chance. the flickering is omnipitent, fleeting grasps at or of any. almost always. rather a silky slow flood. knee deep in hipped waders picking, choosin, picking choosin. again and a cousin. the neighbors neighborhood. everyones discussing taxes at a quarter to one. two steps and sideways is the name of the game. locked up with time passing and a very mister merry more moments and an allowed handful of life.

the word pushed meshed with purpose, begin again. a bag of bones. something long about longitude and latin roots. another day spent. spent change. changed uno mas.

morro rain

the code to be broken, its one-sided. driven past more wrinkles upon that face, the lines like silver. the ghosts are just colder out there these days. june 15th 2010 and just a few miles away. frozen beachside and wondering what gives and already. a shot to shoot and shit you missed your mark, marked.  its a windy paso robles evening and the pour isn't as it was. again and now back in some easy being. the sun dunked itself in that giant westerner drink again. we watched it explode from the bouy tavern parking lot.  hide to stay hidden.  witnessed sheer terror tonight, shared drinks with, and only took breaths between beats of a guttural chuckle. you've got a way with… and someday is today.

labeled laundry

erased every thought. the mile markers disappeared and the machine left the road. everything thought is built upon the better sense of sacred. automatic pilot.  at night or in the beginning, i always forget what the weight of the world pressed my mind to mend. spaced the substantial and just know the definite. the feeling of that emotion on my face as soon as we leave. austin city limits. when i asked for middle, that meant something. maybe caught but regardless.  the music is up but never nearly enough. filtered and independent, as the world churns. sun burnt and mildly drunk on that wine. so sunday so sunday, you're done and gone. just another day closer to next weekend.

over recovery

the blinds pulled at last attempt. way too far and waking up to it. my first, the drunks warm embrace. hanging on to this morning, an uphill battle, i ran and nearly lost it atop the hill. the rains burned off and its as clear as I've ever seen it. the city from here, ghosted grey, that old concretes. buildings everything but built bright. too common, the use of pitter patterns. lulling all in with word play. fuck it, last nite was awkward. a misjudgement once again. eased back and laughed through it to make the best. another shot at regression if i wanted it. not above, but beyond it. a long embrace tells another story.  never know where the other is. we ate well, we drank better and caught up with what the fuck is going on between our own amongsters. caught midnight with a curb side and smashed bottle, the sound of the bus as it hissed off into the mission night, a crept photo from the middle two stripes. i walk the thinnest line. three and always. i came home below the speed limit, watching the fog-over. its silent dispatched attempt at ruing another night failed. came home to rivers pouring down the hill that is my street, kicked thru the puddled and welcome the wander, hell, chris just split too. camby's on fire.

in case the mission. its not for me. brown jacketed with red hood, a glued shut pocket and a shard of glass stuck my finger. counting the consequences of time to figure the loss/lost. birds are humming with cool cool air. the sun, up, reflecting off the camdenest of streets, localism, blatant and i haven't grocery shopped in weeks. lost is only the brilliant side of another new beginning. that long embrace that ended in.