verse

The sun shone on her for so long
That her absence is drawn on my walls.
A silhouette of where she once stood
Is painted there while her scent still lingers.

I’m left to resume dinner reservations for one
And attend the parties of my single-serving friends
While listening to them talk of the glories of
Being single or married or dulled by alcohol to not care.

Coleman Hawkins and his saxophone blow “Don’t Love Me”
And the echo of the loving monikers I was once called
Are hatefully marked out with red crayon or her blood, I’m not sure.
For now I’m just another single so and so.

No edits and no regrets
No foundations on which to forget.
No third parties or loose backdoors
No hidden compartments under floor boards
No skeletons unburied baring the stench
If so, we’ll inhume for recompense
No tears without purchase
No fears with proof
No empty containers
Nor dignity aloof
No fatherless daughter
No motherless son
No sunset forgotten
Nor moonlit sun
No touch is contingent
Mere embrace unreserved
Every thought bring you honor
Every action to serve
No vain repetitions
Nor bulletproof vests
To null this intimate promise,
This constant caress.

Fire fire, burning bright
Windy windy, lost my light
Sequins sequins, she tucks it in
Sprays her scent and does a spin
Water water, quench my thirst
Love me back, make me first
Comet vomit into space
I want to kiss you on your face
Loving loving, why’s it hard?
I rehearsed my lines and know my parts
These shoes behoove though second-hand
Not good enough, more reprimand
Steady steady, start again
I’m sure I’ll get this in the end
Ponder wander, her face I see
And my mind goes again, just up and leaves…

Ahh… to be her pillow.

No, I don’t want to be slow moving and white (cue laugh track) but I DO want to be as full of life and laughter as these three dudes aged 72, 77, and 81. It takes them a while to get started but once they get into the crotch grabbing homage to Michael Jackson, they do it with such vigor that you can’t help but LOL.

Anathemas and shadows and veins coursing lead
He’s looming and lurking and nigh-inspiring dread
Duplicitous and suspicious, I wish that he were dead
He’s like some matured fictional monster come from under my bed

Mondays find me restless and these days ask for peace
Wednesdays leave me torn while next days find my knees
And Saturdays ramblings to God and His returned calls to me
Despite my incapacity of articulating barring eloquence of speech

Mirrors are mere reflections while perspective is above par
I am my only devil, I am my only scar.
Cast him down in the hole and cover him in tar
Still wherever I go, there also is my bête noire.
….

*bête noire is referring to one that is particularly disliked or that is to be avoided.

“A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.” – Tenneva Jordan*

* Unfortunately, I was not able to confirm who Tenneva Jordan is when I discovered this amazing quote.

I’m living in the here and now that is today,
While the hope of tomorrow urges me forward.
Yesterday is SO… yesterday.

This passenger-side driving
Alludes that I’m not so in control
The floorboards won’t slow my descent
And the dashboard won’t steer my fold

While my sanity is bleeding
And injustice is on the walk
I try hard not to feel
I try hard not to talk

This passenger-side driving
Has me impatient to make my mark
But it’s all about the journey I hear
Not where you stop or start

So stops and yields and showoff peels
And drive thru meals and an influx of steel
To the tune of white noise and legislative frills
Remind me to be still. Just be still. Be still. Still.