the accidental poet

remember when I meant to write 

paperback novels - frayed at the edge

but the heaviness of my words

laid bare a soul crashing on rocks jagged

closed-off rooms confuse me

the ringing in my ears

is inordinately loud 

amidst the stillness 

of unconditioned air

if I move to the room 

cooled by an oscillating fan

it becomes a humming

and I can breathe, shallow 

drowsily with a bit of vertigo

I’ve never needed 

alcohol or pills to feel afloat 

She’s is a GenX b- screaming, “YOUR MOM….”

weather and its forecast

seems to change on a dime

or a nickel - if they still make 

such a thing - and it’s not 

where I live but everywhere 

I have lived - it’s the Earth, the 

Omniverse…

my mind goes to rock n roll and lunch

the way we speak to others 

are we kindly supporting 

or do the little jabs surface?

 

the way we speak to others 

the assumptions we make 

says more about ourselves 

once a thing

if I weren’t lost then, I’m sure lost now

difference is, I stopped my lookin’

an’ embraced the ambiguity 

of my existence 

tight to the chest

I see bits and bobs

laid out neatly-etched 

a-long a winding road 

in fact they-lay

in the peripheral 

where I cannot grasp

tight to the chest

utterance ephemeral 

will they solidify soon? 

everything is contingent 

on something else