Time

I sit high above
Seeing the glass sides narrow
Watching the moments stack up
Disappear
and then wink back in below

I am always up here
Even when I manage to make my way down
press into the gap
and rocket through
I always end up back here
Watching from above
There is no way to really be
In the space beyond the apex I can see   

Lam

Take the cracked up and broken parts
Some shattered pieces too weak to support weight
Add the ones worn thin from care
Layer upon layer
Your parts, my pieces, her dreams

The glue that holds it all together is what makes it strong now
Makes something new from the timeworn, paper-thin protection
No shield, just upright members

Laminate of love
Carefully stacked layers
Gooey thick suspension
Lacquer stacked shiny
A hodgepodge decoupage of three distinct sources
Come together creating new foundation
centerpiece of dreams   

The Drift

Here guitars hang on the wall. Down the street they make food behind bullet proof glass. Sometimes it really is all in how you present it.

There’s a studied urban vibe, a graffiti cartoon of razor wire done in bicycle tire. It feels good like a video and stays in the dark background with its mouth shut like it should. It’s an open air warmth, no invitation required. Nothing implied, nothing strained. Vaguely familiar characters gather, smoke rings form. Somewhere in the distance a man and his cat think of me.

I sit, not so much meeting or greeting, no spark of recognition, slowly grounding. A faint click as this coast intersects with some southern continent and then parallels practically everything, wrapping one smooth charm around it all.   

Saving Time

If you really could save daylight
Store it somehow, preserve it for later
What would you do with yours?   

Block Neck

you left me one too many times and it has broken my heart
now you have taken me back and I am here
like a paper doll
thin and dry, unable to support weight

needing your hand to move, to feel
needing your voice to speak

you return to your solitary routine and I sit
wondering why you feel gone when I see you
so clearly like a ghost I cannot touch
gliding just beyond my reach and turning to dust
under my hands like a butterfly
each time I touch you it takes away some of what makes you fly