Jester

People like eccentrics. Therefore they will leave me alone, saying that I am a mad clown.

Vaslav Nijinsky

And they will love me through the times,

or forget me in kind...

could the visit be more or less

blind

one of convenience

timed

to coincide

with reference points

in all those lives

I intersect

but never really touch

Yes, I am loved

and pass as such

into moments

left in trust

archived simply

in the dust

a now-faint trail

into a place

where I sought

refuge from

their space.

Subsequent consequence

as in

product of event

percolates in the silence

of maybe, maybe not

biding its time

a colorless gas,

killing

so slowly

it seems like a lifetime...

Redemption

Imagine the most insignificant

characteristic

magnified a thousand times

a beacon summons

and no one sees

but I cease to be amazed

instead

a blur then a flash

and I'm tight to

the next

last chance for redemption

every time

I lose myself

wanting to be found

anywhere

at any time

tightly connected

again.

Some people hear their own inner voices with great clearness. And they live by what they hear. Such people become crazy... or they become legend.
Jim Harrison

It does occur to me, as I lazily curl around discussions with myself concerning any worldly value I may have accrued over the years, that my inner voice does not go more than one or two words into a given thought before seeking the refuge of a connection to fishing, or flies. And, much to my satisfaction, I do not think this is anything but healthy. I may very well physically starve to death for the lack of my desire to any longer pursue monetary compensation; I truly dread the thought of being forced to work, or to even come to grips with the attitude change necessary in order to obtain work. 'Work' is simply what the word says, and I've long associated that word with everything in life that ends up killing me sooner than I am ready. It has, through my life, even payed me, sometimes handsomely, to do that to myself.

I much prefer my avocation. Not only is that a much more poetic word, it also signifies a love for what I do; never mind the stark reality of any compensation, at least in a monetary sense.

All this leads me right back to my wonderful companion. I am so pleased that I have listened. I have learned more from it than any other source.

Perhaps there will one day come some life-changing epiphany; the dream sequence must seem oddly macabre to those around me. Bus after bus departs, without me on board. I wave goodbye to each one, as my inner voice speaks softly, and intently I listen...

Boat

If I could

I'd grace whatever good fortune

with pieces of a smile

I borrowed at an early age

(never owing a return)

burning themselves

deeply into lines

on my face

which finally become

clear

in the calm water.

A map

unfolds to me,

staring back,

detailed

way before

I had the slightest inkling

that I

may one day

need to know

my route.

And as I

return

fragments

settle briefly

on the surface

around me

before sinking

into the immenseness

of eternity.

Feast

"It requires wisdom to understand wisdom; the music is nothing if the audience can't hear it."

Walter Lippman

... rendering moments of steady progress

moot while they

interfere with my trepidations...

How far has this unwanted ally

traveled,

so unknowingly,

with me?

It seems I am a host

for a multitude of

cynicisms,

not the least a wariness

specifically

inclined

per the moment,

this way and that.

And what is that

which is

carried along the banks of

my tumult?

A promise

of peace?

Hah! As I kick it back,

cursing,

into the mad

currents from which it was

spat.

The forgotten

visage

of promises made

floats, toes up,

sideways in the eddy.

But, blessedly, there are always

the hands,

stealthily

adjusting their grip...

I can feel them...

solo

  That's it for the other one...

Cerise sky.

The highway 

blends into a dream

almost perfectly...

 I forgot to

question the stranger

who frequently sits

over near the door,

watching the building across the street.

He lies so eloquently

through his tears, that 

I almost wish he'd stay.

Leaves like boats now

wend their way,

sliding through a puzzle effortlessly

as time

silently squeezes

something in my heart

and I wish to

become invisible

and ride along.