On flying and landing

Today I decided to let my fingers fly and land where they will

and they will everywhere so often. Just so much nonsense they spout,
with a keyboard, of course,
cause otherwise, fingers can't talk. They exist as helpers.

Now, hands can talk. And faces and eyes and lips. Whole BODIES can talk.

Sign language uses everything. Which people wouldn't often think, but it's true. Its the
hands and the eyes and the mouth.
Smiles and giddiness and pouts.

Everything. Everyone uses everything to speak. Even when they aren't, they are. If someone is trying to be still and reserved, that is expressed in their stillness and reservedness. They show their disinterest (or attempt to be so) in their concentration (or lack thereof).

Oh, words confuse me. There's a whole mess of things here.

Hopefully one of you can find something in them.
It's not developed so very much.

Next time, there will be more.

The need to write

I need to write. Even when I know not what to say.

I need to write. Even when the words seem to fly away

I need to write and make sure to stay
sane.

All the words are flying around, buzzing around, whipping around through my mind, whirling dervishes of imagination and pizzazz. So many jokes and thoughts, curses and semi-understandings, that my head feels like a very-slowly-inflating balloon.

swollen with so many words.

Sometimes I can deflate my head when I sleep. But sometimes, it stays heavy and thick, causing my neck grief and all my pillows to be flattened by the sheer weight of the shit that happens in my happenings. My head, at times, aches with it's own growth.

But I'd rather feel this pain of expanding and learning and discovering than the nothingness of stale ideas.

Early-morning imaging

I had a dream last night. Or maybe it was a nightmare.
It was devoid of emotion, mostly, so it's hard to tell into which of these categories the images fit.

I remember sleeping. Then awakening with the knowledge that something was wrong. Something felt wrong. And all of a sudden, I just knew what it was--someone or something had stolen food from everyone in the surrounding area and had left it at our house-that-wasn't-our-house. Maybe our children had done it? Or our pets?

I knew without knowing that everyone would be coming to get their food back. Right now in the middle of the night. As I walked through the front door to meet all the people, a pair of.....somethings were hanging on the wall. I don't know how to describe what they were... Something kind of like a miniature jacket hanging on a key-hook by the door. As I watched these "jackets", they seemed to fill with forms, very much like ghosts filling the empty clothing of their recently-departed bodies. And they filled with deformed little figures, one of them with a feminine feeling to it grew large and swollen, dwarfing the masculine little being.

and when they finished growing, neither of them moved. They weren't alive. They were simply hanging from the ceiling, empty little husks with the overwhelming feeling of prophecy and foreboding. I looked at you, and you understood too. There was no question, no judgement, just us between the two of us. That kept me sane.

They began coming from everywhere-- every direction-- to get their food from our house. But it was only children and pets. Dogs, and cats, with collars. Kids in oversize t-shirts and bare, blue feet. Some arrived in pairs, some animal trios, some groups of sleepy children, holding the hands of their siblings as they emerged from the fog. All looked groggy as they shambled up to the boxes that appeared, full of food, in our driveway. I wonder how they knew their food was at our house. I wonder how they knew it was missing.

We passed out the canned goods as the innocents grew close enough. Just one can per house. One can of peaches, or lima beans, or chili, or tomatoes. Doesn't matter if they receive what was taken from them, only that they receive something back.

Then, directly after receiving their food, the things shambled off again. Without a word or a smile.

into the night, into the fog, into the never-coming dawn.

And then I awoke, feeling swollen with emptiness.

i wish for all of everyone's wishes to be fulfilled

i wish that i could write poetry

whenever i wish

and that i could demand it fly

from my fingertips

i wish that i could escape the world

and off into the stars

to dream and live among the lights

and study from afar

i wish that i could smile forever

even after shit-days

to laugh and talk and spend some time

and waste it all away

Tongue-twisted

What a to-do to die today

at a minute or two til two.....
It's a thing distinctly hard to say, yet
harder still to do.

We'll beat a tattoo
at twenty to two
with a rat-tat-tat tat-tat-tat tat-tat-tattoo


For the dragon will come when he hears the drum, at a minute
or two
til two
today;
a minute
or two
til two.