Pillows in the Sky

Lazy morning dynamics, how my mind shifts.
Yesterday’s blazing heat gone, climate shifted with my head, amplified and drifts,
and now everything feels right.

I watch the skies float on by, someones hand guiding their way, over-stuffed pillows hanging in perpetual motion.
Viewed from this speck- I must look so tiny from up there.

The day is for reminiscing, a distance from where the morning blooms.
Here in my head, enough space for two, or maybe on my lap, seated- just me and you.

I sit here waiting for the beauty of another chance at life.
Sunlight smiles down, the plight of serenity, and everything just right.
Clouds roll by, conveying how simple this all is…

Life Cycle of a Morning

Stagnation, roll up your sleeves, no one sees you when you hide.
And I don’t care if you redefine yourself, using crayons to color your outsides.
Smiles and lines, contours smothering air, humid and stank, leaving the room after a night of lust, spread legs and pillow talk, vitriol words that hang,
distilling into sleep or dreams, between sleep apnea and lost sentiment coming apart at the seams.
Nobody sees you but me, the real you and hypothetical me,
flogging the morning hours, a fly circles overhead and the slow drip of coffee.

This beautiful morning needs to be imperfect– we love each other for the same purpose, reminders; sandman- clean out your eyes and kiss me with your morning breath,
my lips are dry and the clamminess of skin leaving out its last sweat.

This perfect morning, piggy-backing the quiet, save for the ‘buzz’ of a fly mother who lost her maggots, coasting past the morning newspaper, poverty, shootings- things you just can’t relate to.
People who live in the skids, broke bank accts. and blistered families, burned out– so wasted.

Oblivion makes it’s case.
Compound eyes shoot a glance my way
There’s nothing left to save but face.
The lifespan of a fly and my own kids close by
as I drift back to a less complicated place.

Bedfellows

If I had a choice, and of course I do.
The last time, we all get that one fleeting thought that decides to hang around.
I’ve spent too many hours here,
too many days pondering you.
Plug the hole with so many artifacts of the past,
the clouds overhang and the cigarette butts within kicking distance, once flicked– and attached to the mouths of strangers.
We all lie in bed, we spend- countless hours, to defend
our right to be careless or reckless, one in the same.

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Joyride

I don’t want this ride to end.
So you see it for what it is.
Rainbow spew and hearts renewed
fighting the good fight no one ever wins.

I don’t want this ride to end.
Somewhere ripped from the headlines,
Internet stole you and forced smiles all around.
Look at your facade now.
Nothing to fear, and nothing to dread.
I don’t want this ride to end.

We all run out of gas.
All the exhaust hangs on, hangs out.
You breathe it in and swear its all you have.
There are rings of smoke everywhere you look.
Hide under the low lying clouds, where sunlight has it’s way with you.

I don’t want this ride to end.
Keep your eyes on what’s ahead
…and your hands on the wheel.

U+Me= Holding On

Everybody moves on.
I keep holding on.
Vice grip blues.
I hold onto you, but you never turned your head to see me.
We thought on the same plane, I existed once
maybe that was my defect. Seems personal now.
But it’s not your problem, you just kept walking
into the sun- or maybe an impasse and then a rest stop to thank the ground for keeping pace
I wanted you to wait for me. I could hear the shuffle of feet
You never said goodbye.
You never told me you’d miss me.
The days stretched into years.
I’m still waiting here.