the poetry nugget

The struggles to balance passion and discipline, the sacrifices to the gods who exact muchness, yet bestow a fragile fame, terrestrial, transient. The disillusion of the looking glass, smoke, haze, a few too many, half a breath frosting a fingertip into eternity.

The scent of char'd wood, warmth by the fire, side by side, faces framed in embers.

lost in my head, my feelings somewhere, perhaps in a corner of a chamber, in a shadow, in the silence between a lub and a dub, an innocent murmur, an echo...

time stretches, it seeps into my crevices, sates my drifting daydreams, escapes my grasp...

the world goes about its business, witness to violence and chaos, beauty and kindness. it does not pause to see faces, it does not wait to hear voices, it does not stop to taste bittersweet. it moves in fluid rotation, and long, lazy loops around the sun.

the drone of micromanagement, in quarter-hour installments, each created to contradict, they layer them, a cake, to celebrate. doubt becomes belief, own the fault, the pieces of the puzzle fall into a pattern, a plan, mean-spirited, worthy of a Scottish wife, with a complement of false concern. a blight of human kindness.

No words to express my sadness because he is gone too early; before all our tales told, before all our adventures shared, before all our poetry reworked in the confines of my car. I whisper to him inbetween the  hours,  when the sky is bruised  black&blue, to him,  on the other side...