Puffy Eyes in the Morning

12:49 a.m.



It's that time of night again.

When all the emotions run
their courses through my broken
body, etching deeper furrows,
eroding away the resilient shoreline
in whitewater waves of pure feeling.

I do not want to, cannot deal with
them- any of them.

So I drown myself in media,
in the millions of fanfictions and
Facebook posts and meaningless
YouTube videos and book reviews
on what I'll never read, and craftsy
blogs and Pinterest projects I
won't ever do and TV shows
so horrible only late-night viewers
are zoned out enough to even bother.

It's all a depressant, an electronic distraction.

I do not have the internal strength
to handle my emotions so I don't
even attempt to try.

I cry and feel wretched,
then continue to watch
another video sequence of
flashing colors and sound bytes.

The truth is,
I am a first-class coward.



3:26 a.m.

Emily

With a click of a button,

the turn of a key, 

the roar of an engine;

with the kiss of a breeze,

the blessing of light, 

the call of the horizon;

she is off.

She is off to new lands,

to wherever the road may take her,

whether by pavement

or gravel 

or dirt

or river

or sea

or the endless sky,

she is gone.

She is gone to explore,

to experience all that this world

has to offer her open mind

and willing heart,

ready to embrace the spirit

of travel.

Here It Is

Here it is, the last push, the last sprint,

the last burst of energy to carry you over

that spray painted finish line.

Here it is, the last need for something huge

or something little, or even something that is 

just enough to carry you past the end.

Here it is, the last little bit, the last length,

the last hundred feet, the last hundred inches

that will carry you beyond the final step.

Here I am, at the last push, the last dash,

the last second wind that will have to carry 

me over that neon yellow finish line.

Here I am, at the last surge of power rushing

through my veins in a feeble attempt at mimicking

the initial adrenaline that carried me past the start.

Here I am, at the brink of success's glorious

sunrise, teetering on the edge of falling into the

deep waters below, behind the final step.

Here we are, at the top of the final hill,

the last incline that will send us careening joyously

into the open arms of triumph.

Here we are, at the last moments before a victorious

sunrise, the last moments that seem so dark and

dreary, but we shall emerge rejoicing at the end.

Here we are, at the last wave of energy, the last launch

that will carry us to the moon and beyond.

Here we all stand, at the top of the mountain,

at the tail of a comet, at the edge of the moon;

we have conquered and proved ourselves worthy.

Here we all stand, at the great and shining dawn 

that glows with an exalted glory as we raise our hands

in gratifying magnificence.

Here we stand, the finishers of the race, the crying 

teammates draped with honors and success; for we

have proved ourselves. 

We have carried us across that neon yellow finish line.

All You Ever Needed

I am a chameleon,
standing here on the branch
of the wrinkled chocolate stone
that grows upward and outward,
feasting upon the small rivulets of
blueberry juice that flow from the waves
of the open grey sphere that expands so far
that it appears to be flat, if flat indeed it is,
and all the world is a round flat disc of the
third dimension that could roll in the palm of the
hand of a living deity; it could roll around on an axis,
and focus on a bright yellow spot that glowed in
return for such revolving attention, such a spotlight
as that cannot turn away or veer off
from its accepted course.

I am an invisible ink,
the lemon juice, the milk, the white crayon
that small children use to write secret messages
to one another about their crushes, their secret lives
of imagination that extend far more outwards
and abstractly yet logically than full-grown, experienced
adults, leaders of this mundane world, are willing to
give them credit for, for this power had been lost
somewhere in the murky depths of a bog they call maturity,
mingled with responsibility and taxes
and getting a job and raising a family that they
often find doing just as well without them, for rarely
are they ever home long enough
to truly know who
their children will become.

I am a thought, a whisper,
lingering in the back of your mind,
reminding you that you still need to call
your grandmother and tell her "happy birthday,"
since she will soon be beyond the reach of a simple
phone call- seven numbers away- and she will be
soaring over the earth, the round flat disc of the third
dimension that continues its set path around the fiery sphere
in the almost-center of the solar system, and she will
fly through the clouds like dollops of whipping cream and
cut through the stars and galaxies like the freeway,
the highway, cutting through the beautiful country
littered with wild flowers and open fields.
Soon she will be gone,
and you won't be able to tell her
everything you needed to say.

The Haunts of the Past

Here is a road that I have traveled before;
it looks quite familiar, but I can not remember
which way I had taken the last time I passed.
Was it right? Or was it left? Or perhaps in-between?
Maybe left and three-quarters- but maybe not so.

Here is a road that I have traveled before;
so many choices that I do not think that I had
considered when last I showed up on this same ground.
Perhaps I ought to retrace my steps; or perhaps I should
simply let my gut feeling lead, for it always knows where to go.

Here is a road that I have traveled before;
all its paths seem familiar, but I can not recall from where.
Whence did this memory come surging through my nerves?
Is it a primal instinct that has been bred into my very make up,
or was it impressed upon me as a young, curious child?

Here is a road that I have traveled before;
the leaves of one branch's trees call me softly to join them
underneath their whispering susurrant embrace that
promises to keep me always warm and comfortable while
I yet stay within their easy, cushioned, sunny cradle.

Here is a road that I have traveled before;
another path's mysterious silver lining echoes chants
and welcoming calls that lie faint, yet pleasant, on my cocked
and listening ear. The thick fog does not deter me from considering this;
indeed, it seems to drape most gracefully like lace upon a lady's dress.

Here is a road that I have traveled before;
a third path beckons with fingers like gossamer, almost leading
me along without my notice toward its smoothly undulating lane, like
the ocean, that endless avenue with no marked lines or boundaries
save for the ever-eroding land that will eventually sink beneath its waves.

Here is a road that I have traveled before;
there seems no place to go that does not hold something
just out of reach, barely out of sight, that nags at my mind, reels me in
like so many fish hooked on a line. Yet I am a fish that has fallen
to the lines of three, and must let go of two or be torn into useless ribbons.

Dark Green

Deep, deep down in the dark green roots
of the dark green trees
of the dark green forest
lived a dark green creature
with a dark green face.
The dark green creature
with a dark green face
had two dark green eyes
that glittered like twins
of the dark green kind.
It had a dark green mouth
and a dark green tongue
that flickered once or twice
to taste the dark green air.
This dark green creature
had four dark green legs
with four dark green feet
that had four dark green claws
on each dark green foot
like four dark green daggers
that cut the dark green soil
under the dark green roots
of the dark green trees
way down deep in the dark green forest.

Summer Dreams

My mother used to tell me a story
when we would sit out in our yard
and look up at the gleaming stars on a
warm summer night, and all around
was quietude, save for the chirping crickets
singing their soft evening melody to the
setting sun that had just left for her bright
western lands on the other side of the earth.
We would sit out on the cooling grass
just getting damp with crystal dew, and I
would nestle close to her as she whispered:

Once upon a time in a fantastical land
far, far away and a long time ago,
there was a beautiful island far out in
the sea, where grew a flourishing forest
all dense with healthy green foliage and vividly
sprouting flowers that grew in all colors of the
world; there were pinks and blues in all sorts
of wondrous shades, deep crimson clovers,
pure white lilies, royal carpets of violets,
and all other blossoms that could ever be named.

And the creatures that lived there! Well! Never was
there such a sight as the island during the budding
spring days, all just thawing out from a snow-laced
winter, everything simply teeming with life and
joy; this joy, you know, derived from the wonderful
happening of new calves, new colts, new piglets,
new lambs, new pups, new cubs, new fledglings, all
scarcely entering this new and strange land that
would become as familiar to them as this house is
to you. To them, now, though, everything was curious
and odd, but not yet dangerous or worthy of their
cautious step. All was soft as their mother's womb,
and nothing could hurt them while their loving
parent yet stood near like a comforting shadow.

But never did anyone see any creature so
majestic and beautiful and glorious as the fabled
fire lizard. the folk of the island, who lived alongside the
many prolific animals there, would say that it was
the very heart of the island, the life force of their home.
As it breathed, so too did the inhabitants, and
as it shifted in its sleep, the ripples would cause the
fields to become ripe, and the creatures and people
to prosper and live in plenty and peace. Everyone
on the island slept in ease with their protector caring
for their every need and want.

And as she would say this, my mother would
wrap me in her soft, floral-scented arms, and carry me
inside to my comforting bed, which was crisply made
with newly washed sheets. My stuffed bear would be
there waiting for me, with his open, fluffy paws,
and I would sleepily snuggle into the comforter and
fall directly to sleep as soon as my head dropped
to the pillow. That night, I would dream of a beautiful
island draped with magnificent foliage and populated
with the most incredible creatures, and I would feel
the deep comfort of the great island lizard.