if that ain't vanilla

I just got booted out of my place

*le sigh*

suppose I ought to care more

than I do

about all sorts of things

like the shortening days

or the clockwork return of Jesus

season

I wrap into blankets

voices muffled through curtains

filter in from outside

stray distinguishable words

*my  understanding*

I can't help but think that's

exactly the problem

that and suburban sprawl

tangential memories

I've been through the battlefields

facetious inner-terrain banished

I have three jobs

looking for the forth

wielding hammer, cake, cappuccino,

smiles and grace

wind and crisp stars rivet my attention

my heart not still

I await a reckoning

there was a silence in that chaos

I'd forgotten

grateful, I returned to my senses 

boot straps

I've been told one can judge a man based on the quality and condition if his shoes. 

my boots are old. my feet have pressed miles into their soles. the scuffed toes and dusty cracks speak of labor, early mornings, manure. I oil them and pray.

I am working three jobs earning dollars and pride.

I pray for one more week-- as if that span will provide me clarity of mind.

my heart beats along as I wake in the predawn hours to pick up a hammer so that I can buy new boots that don't have miles if history cracked into the cracks. 

love, my love, lifts the edges of oblivion

scours the terrain

feasting 

love is gentle

to all of you I disregarded

took for granted and

abandoned

forgive me,

I lost more than my bearings

now that I remember

surfacing for air

the sea's dead calm surface

belayed its currents

I have less

to hold now

hold me gently

lips to my ear

as I wake