six ways to Sunday

(look around and wonder

here

circling round suns and years)

dishes stacked with

half-baked breakfast remnants

linger on the counter

in the sink

I, foolhardy, contrite, damp

scrub the caked egg off the china

in hopes that the cracked

porcelain doesn't chip further

perfunctory remission

Haunted by death's sallow pallor

I watch waxen hollow faces

from across the bar

nine minus

tomorrow 

here is to moments 

and the hot tip of a nail

and the razor's edge longs

and hot food a memory

I turn to resolve

and count seconds as private victories

against the inevitable tick tock

patience of Job

my grandmother used to tell my mom

"you have the patience of Job,"

as she sat picking snarls

from strands of necklaces.

my stomach is in knots

as I think back

to all of the times

why-not-maybe

became more common than yes. 

my heart

hunted the most dangerous game

I started saying yes

but my stomach is still in knots 

land shark

the tide rises

being pulled up by dawn's

silken peach

glow over the horizon

another day in paradise, I mumble to the rents in my heart. it's not so much that I mind being the last very last because my papa always said, the meek shall inherit the earth.

in the quiet I mistook humility for shame

traded respect for acceptance

Peter is wondering when he is going to be paid

enough enough enough

kool aid

no, no, know now

we filter together

across oblivion

grow these secrets

stitch them into sunshine

forge rumors

out of starlight

meandering trajectory

stumbled upon intelligence

the application for happiness

requires more than a number

Spammers Love this Wormhole

http://ne-cede.blogspot.com/2007/01/perspicacious.html

I wish I could remember what was on my mind when I wrote that oh so ever so long ago.

Happiness and peace stem from self-mastery.

Dreams May Come

The days long ago
when small boxes full of empty promise
filled my pockets


Winter approaches
the boundary of summer's lingering light

reflects off skin wet with sweat

Hibernation and soup and books and woolen sweaters
stars silent across the frozen sky
my breath exhales summer

I am in and out friends, in and out. On the lam, my wings spread, I opened myself up to what-may-come and standing here in the great welcome what-may-come I find myself intact and quiet. I suppose that I would like to explain how I finally start to understand that I've made a mess of my talents, not applied myself rigorously in my pursuits. If I were to say that, I would be a liar.

I take aim
exhale and steady my approach

Help is on the way

drinking pink noise

to all of you

dismantled in sunset's

drunken twilight glow

I stand limbed

singing whispered

strategies of

past melancholies