Parallelove

Parallax the view of distance
Shared heart and hope

Matter at angle, 

Far,  wide, the view, the vantage

A disadvantage, beyond the nuclear

As dream implodes, reborn intact,

Tainted roots grow of different tree

Of good soil

Healthy trunk and leave

Parallax views, left, right, 

Foresight and hindsight, mixed

Fade and shade a bask distance apart

Of fingertip held hands, 

Inches apart. 

Inches of spanning miles down 

A parallel future. 

What if the roads neither diverged, 

Nor converged? 

Steps met meet, and never again? 

Hearts aligned. 

A distance of tracks, tracked 

Parallel. Parallel. Parallel. Parallel. 

Parallel. Parallel. Parallel. Parallel. 

Further blisters the horizon. 

Beauty and kindness bare blisters.  

Of fear and familiar road

Blocks Frosts’ invitation

Of wandering heart that that has wrapped, and intertwined. 

And found. 

Love in a paralleled, parallaxed, perplexed view. 

Different of every day 

Standing together, apart. 

We take the one most traveled by. 

I am concussed

Beaten by sadness. 

Triumph. Vision. 

Cut of blade

Scrawls “no gain” 

With jagged hope. 

On three blunts of forced trauma 

Of head against the wall.

A gash widens.
Spread too thin. 

With thick breadth 

Of breathing 

Can happy. Everyone can happy. 

Happify. Confused manipulation. 

Failure promotes improvement 

Of the faithless. 

Gnaw of knuckle 

Eyes dried

Staring through continuous 

Disappointment. 

With salts that burn

Crusties never cried. 
Realization 

Err of human 

Spoken in vain

Of secrecy without admittance

Of fault

Gains of notoriety. Same secrecy. 

Ever changing truth of secrecy. 
Not what that if we are called. 

If called. 

The call to bear

Others’ stares. 

Walks up behind you

Shelters a persona

Never shook

Often shaken 

Stirred into silence 

Golden if solitude is precious. 
[thoughts mixed in memory of Chris Cornell and his recent suicide & informed by research on the impact of teens from the Netflix show “13 Reasons Why”] 

The prickle of cactus 🌵

In the in-between 
Prickle of cactus surrounds 

Supple beauty and strength. 

Push of thigh beyond limit

That beautiful displayed muscle 

Stretched curved strength

On stone spreads, a warm touch

An ease of admiration and courage, 

Visual, pleasure, shared and recalled. 
The prickle of cactus envies

Confidence of strength

In practice, in knowing. 

Musculature paves example

To guide

Of health and living

To bear resemblance is the mimic

That leads, to try, refine, work, work, work

The sweat tells a story, comforting the outcome

Shared in unspoken, glistening gratitude. 
Imagination runs. Wild. 

Encouragement blends the want, hardens the will. 

Achieving

Doing more than thought possible. 

Bolstered, to push and push beyond.
The bent body, the limits, through the eyes

Open, closed, connected

Pliable to the heated touch, 

Like warmed stone of trust.
The prickle of cactus, is tribute

In contrast, to the beauty

That lies generously layered

From the outside, in, deep

To the core of tissue and heart

Led down a path

By a siren

Soft and true in the in-between of prickle cacti.

i have his eyes

Howard Kashman | Hancock Field. Syracuse, NY. 1962

I have his eyes,
But of a different color.
I have his hair,
In a different stage of life.
At times I hear myself laugh,…
With similarities our own chuckles.
Much received and learned,
That makes me who I am,
That makes me how I am.
And with forward vision,
I look at my father, to him,
About him,
Life unfolding.
If I pay attention,
Glimpses of what’s to come,
Present themselves.
Of who I may be,
Of how I may be,
And I thank him for it.
Today.
And tomorrow.

Every bite a premonition

Every bite a sad premonition that the end was near. 🍔 

The flight of slumber

​

On my stomach

In comforter 

A draped cape flying slumber

First class

Away from the day of thought 

Into a night of dreams

Cloaked in sweat

Hiding in the recesses 

Of all the thoughts we wish not to have

Crusader of fears

Twilight last steam

Popped, and blown

Pillowed by the want and the weight 

The unfortunate break of tire

And repair. 

The breathing is the last hang on memory. 

Hang on. 

Morning shall bring a light

To fade the forgotten. 

Steps

Miss of the in between of that and this. 

Calm mind, scatter 

In silence deafens the missing chatter. 

Pouring wet, clomp sounds of Goretexsteps spade

Shine eyes shut, shutting in the bright of shade. 

Comfort of pockets, hand hid

Clomp of wander of what didn’t, did. 

Yellow wood Frost-bitten whittles, 

Dividing things longed big from dispensible little. 

Trail leads stains through mind, 

Synapse regret, synapse hope, synapse bind. 

Forward persuades feelers feel. 

The miss of the in between of that and this. 

Ho Ho Ho

I believe in Santa.
His beard, truth serum
Taken in year after optimistic year.

Ol’ Nick’s “Ho Ho Ho” is acronym code; this I believe.
Not uttered ’cause The Clause is so co’co’cold;
And “No” + eye roll to the clever chemist who says it’s periodic for Ho‘lmium.
I believe it’s North code
Through deep laugh … #hohoho

One Ho is for ho‘pe.
Eternal capture of heart floats
Buoyancy in the face of opposition.

One Ho is for ho‘me.
Warmth of physical roof
And literal communal comfort, banding
Not abandoning.

And one Ho for ho‘wl.
The greeting of the pack; a oneness
With feisty, fiery, fierce language
No barrier to the acceptance one + one + another…

Good is Everyone.
I believe it. And that makes Santa real.
Innate, deep;
Feed your gut and mind, and imitate, “Ho Ho Ho“;
Again!  Louder!
With your grandest belly,
Your mightiest laugh,
And minds outstretched with timeless hands.

Happy holidays, and “Ho Ho Ho” to all!

from Berlin to Mexico

labored Berlin ghosts whisper
long-shadowed lessons
on the banks of the Rio Grande.
mandatory attendance
in face of
riverbank’ed ideas, collected
dusty constituents soak
unobstructed views, thorough and through
north to south. south to north.
west to east. east free to west.
As far as humanity’s eyes see

no brick will rise. the untelevised masses hear,
no brick will rise.

no cinder block stacked, no concrete poured.
rebar. barbed wire. entangled, broken synapses
figments of his limited, dishonest eyes;
pre-elect pomp, lies; no circumstance.

ancient, skilled laborer knew best,
knows best;
shameful decisions bulldozed
share future knowledge

water flows
lessons to any ignorant few.
the aspirations of expired apparitions.
bent backs bent back
not backing up; not backing down
pay lessons of loss forward.

ground breaks
over the millennia and
natural concessions of the Rio Grande.
carved, and welcoming
infused by a shameless zeitgeist, ever
never risen. never torn down.
never worn. never wear. down

Music shadow

The blue of sky
Puts pace to foot
To pavement
With syncopation on the off beat
Chance allows unplanned turns
And echoes of faint cars, birds, wind
Filter the chosen music
Ambient and free
To mix melody with need
For fresh air
And thought.
Cloud down from sun up
To heat off sidewalk
The passage of time measured
In length of song
Number of songs
Number of steps, up count and fit’bitted,
From song-to-song
Collectively.
Music plays in the shadows
Ahead
Sometimes behind
In the in between
Playing and creating
Until sun down.
Or songs’ end.
The stream is endless
Of notes
Of notes jotted mentally down
As thoughts pop weightless in the soar of a head filled with music, accompanied by shadow
Free to think in the shade.