Mark my words

Sometimes when I say
“If this all there is, it would be enough”
It doesn’t carry the depth it should.
What I am desperately thinking is of a you, him or she from another time.
Yesterday I stumbled into a bar
Only to see a new version of someone I loved standing in the doorsill
Of my New World.
I forgot how much sepia can fill in a room
And how much I loved the color
And frankly I knew then
That I was blessed to encounter him again
And the statement above, suddenly rang crystal clear.

LOST IN SPACE

What do I do my faraway star?
Do I build shrines to a love that kindled years ago
But never went ablaze?
Do I hold onto the trinkets or do I let the ink run dry on a refillable page?
Where do the fever dreams flutter to?
Do they go to someplace else or do I squeeze them until the fever breaks?
Does the garden become weeds?
Does my voice become hoarse and then silent?
Oh blemish speck, the bright light cradling the universe.
What do you do with this saturated inability to let go?
Do I endlessly float through the drudgery and awe of the cosmos?
Some inner voice says
“Let go into the wonderful unknown”
Well Honey, I just don’t know.

Talk to me

A movie date months in the making with my girl Jaqs up at the Alamo Drafthouse in Sloans Lake. I’m happy to see her looking good and reporting on her successes and hobbies.

Strange, I think I turn my phone off but as the picture begins my phone starts ringing , a number labeled Salt Lake CY UT. A phone also rings on the screen as a man yells for his brother to pick up the phone at a party as we’re introduced to the horror ahead of us.
We enjoy it, and emerge from the theater to rain and thunder with the occasional flash of lightning. I take a moment to tell her about the previous day at the fair, as visually it bared some interesting similarities with the spirits manifesting in the physical body in the movie, although in my instance the persons experience on the other side of the veil after the eyes rolling back was an experience of peace.
We part ways bidding each other safe travels in the rain and making loose plans for future movie dates not so far between.
The rain and lightning makes the drive home moody, and in perfect alignment with the film we just enjoyed. I’m into it.

Romance weekend

At the Colorado Renaissance Faire and we’ve met up with my husband’s friend Chez and my girl Jen with her fiance. I had warned my friends in advance that my husband had gobbled down a few psilocybin after entry for this particular adults only experience, he however failed to let his buddy know what had happened so what happened next was maybe more frightening than it needed to be. The husband was fine for a round of throwing axes, shortly after a restroom pit stop is when it hit hard.

After going through the ships hulk shop with my friends, I caught up to my husband and his bud at the pirates pub stage. He’d said he wasn’t feeling so great and laid his head on the table, very suddenly he flies backward, landing with a thud on the ground. Some kindly fair folk over at the bar help with with the body until he comes too. His eyes are rolled back in his head and a deep snoring sound emerges from his throat . Someone calls for the medic team and the maiden singing onstage champion onward.

The Hope Mutation

MAY

Christmas lights dwindle from soft pupils
In a May storm full sky.
Humming birds and glittery trees
Are frozen by songs in refrain.
Days where everything feels beautiful
Are stockpiled for rainy afternoons, not yet lived through but highly anticipated.
Dreams dart and dissipate but somehow feelings linger.

JUNE

Despite a handshake of Cruel Life
a melancholy gal tap dances her vivacious tune.
Although wishes never came true
And prayers are forever not answered by God or Man,
penny throwers feels slightest wind of change and
Somehow the faintest touch of hope bubbles to surface, once thought as unobtainable dreams.

JULY

Life’s risky ballroom floor has changes of partners.
Smiles escape eternity with flickers of an upturned brow somehow sagging by evening.
Everything is off kilter, cold and brazen
But secretly Mad and Lost
Think of spring and of
A single flower budding through harsh, frigid snow of disheveled minds.
Somehow, despite the tempo being altered the feeling of hope resurfaces.

Deleted Poetry Sites

There is a heavy unwillingness to let go.
It is as if I discovered the Rosetta stone
A decade too late and now am perplexed
On what to do with the answer key.
Everyone else feels as if they are smoke and mirrors.
Nothing fills this wasteless void.
If you want me to let go, I will in numberless forms
But there is a tiny crevice in my heart
That cannot, nor will not let go.
There is a magic to this thread you wish to break.
There is beauty in this destruction of all reason.
Somehow the locked gate in a Garden refuses to decay
Even in the most frigid temperatures.
And even though
There are neon signs glaring “crazy”
I cant help but want to speak the language of us
Even though there is nothing left
But the red string of fate.
There is only You.
There is only I.
There is no art of letting go in this equation.
There are only murals of what once was.

Thoughts

I thought we see each other and we know. Because that’s how I had been thinking of our last time. Well, that didn’t happen. We were not on the same page anymore. Of course not. We will never be again. I had issues to accept this for a long time. But now it doesn’t hurt anymore. I don’t feel much anymore. Even though I know that it will never completely be over. You own a piece of my heart.