That simple sound flooded the orchard.
Your voice yesterday, your voice, I eant to drown in it.
Tomorrow, tomorrow I have plans for you.

From Thursday the 12th:

Turn your face toward me,
Find my mouth in the dark.
I let each day evolve.

She falls up into sky blue dreams,
The weight of her crush,
She falls deeper every day,
A lightening of being.

There are two paths she may eventually face
There are three paths that he can embrace.
The world is still for now and they are content?

I keep writing, searching for words. There are many yet not the right ones.
The days pass and I find them but they fade and then the new ones elude me.

Her demons are slain in swift thrusts, they do not own her. Her past dissected and reasoning applied, she tarries no longer. He brings the present alive and the future, she refuses to define.

She longs to touch each scar, especially the one she yearns to make.

I feel a lot like
Turning water into wine
Lead into gold.

If you ever knew that girl, you could see
She lies deeply sleeping, never to be free.
The new one, the new one is real.

And the one person I can trust to give me shit tells me to ride it through.
As if I wasn’t going to already. Love you, M, you’re a doll.

My heart hurts

I kneel before you, not in submission,
I tower over you, not in control.
It is all in mutual benefit.


She walks close, shoulders touching his, reaching for his hand in reassurance. “I understand at least,” she looks away to distance at children playing and dogs running, then up at his face, “Your not wanting to hurt her.” They move on in silence, the words between them. He pulls her closer, but she keeps her distance.

Princess; it’s like calling a fat man Tiny.

No business falling
In this time and place and space.
They know this and toss the thought aside.
I rethink things over and over to be sure.
I come to the same conclusions and smile.
Life is complicated and yet simple.

These are not for you cowboy, but I had to get them out:

That young girl is still in me.
Felling guilty for being happy.

Sometimes it seems
That the world owed you something.
And I was the world paying.

One quick backslap to the face,
Maybe on several occasions and
You would have paid attention,
Gotten your act together?
That in itself shows our incompatibility.
That’s not the way I live.
How could you not know me after so long, and
How could you have expected me to
Take responsibility for you.
You had to want to give,
I shouldn’t have had to make you.
And I didn’t.

We can only own ourselves and no other.
We must trust them to be their own adult
Even when we know they aren’t.

I am sorry, C,
This day of all days
To hit so hard on things.
But trust, it is not anger,
But sadness and I do miss you.
Happy Birthday.

Heavy is the heart that misses and pines.
Content, though does not the daily visage need but want.
And then there is the simple voice that does that to her.

The heart that swells beneath skin and flesh
Searing scars of possession unseen.
Brand her like cattle if you need, she will let you.

Complacent is the heart in wait, secure in her state.
She’s gonna enjoy and think another day.
She wants to fuck him, her eyes on his face.
His intensity incomparable, her little girl gaze, so trusting.
She wants to get to know him, see where things go.

She is scared to say the words.
“So soon,” she whispers.
But they are there in hiding.
She feels its’ ebb and flow.
Ride it through, honey.

I wrote much tonight both in confusion and in clarity. I am pleased with none of it. The single word that escapes my lips in whisper? Incomparable. Maybe I'll have more to say tomorrow but for now that's all I have.

And the heart put forth is the heart that feels deep
Unafraid of things it can’t keep.

Three months she lay fallow.
Then the earth was stirred,
Seeds sown in the rich moist soil.
Blossoming into blushes of
The little heart revealing, naked and vulnerable.

I write the soul that sings softly
In time and rhyme of slow soliloquies.

Hey Stevie Ray, you looked awesome in your suit, the pin on your lapel. And the casket, the flowers, beautiful. That smile was fucked up but, hey. So many people, they loved you. “The myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground, to a life consumed by slow decay…” I will die old, laughing, and fighting like hell after a life well lived. I promise.

A mirror to her soul, in you she sees reflected
All the things she loves about herself.
She thought, fishing, hunting? Not her type.
And then pleasantly she discovered
You are as antithetical to yourself
As she is to me.

The catalysts of three are haunting;
Life, death and passion and how they broke
Spirit, faith and trust with myself.
I began the reparation of those things I lost
And began the discovery of soul,
Deep and unfathomable.

I have been lost in passion and
I have loved both unselfishly and unconditionally.
My heart has broken through my own design and
My heart has broken beautifully.
I have known no regrets and have grown.
I thought something incomparable and
I thought I could never find those things again.
And yet here I am having surpassed those depths.
And yet here I am and there you are.

Zen and I reside in the stillness of present.
That's not to say I don't have hopes and dreams for the future.

From 6:46 a.m. post

I will cross roads and take paths when they manifest before me and no sooner. They reside in the silent shade of the infinite possibilities of the future, a gray haze on a new spring day. I know where they lead and that soon I will want one over the other. And still, I may come to a field of wheat and corn or a copse of trees and make my own way. I will enjoy the journey regardless of its destination. I look around and find my god in nature.

Palms sway in the breeze, sun on the water, the sand warm. You stand there in the distance, Robert, gaze intent, smiling like your picture of old when we were young and the world had not yet crept in. You watch me in my joy from that distant stillness standing, immobile, sure as the day I killed you, sure as the day you met the earth. Your eyes tell me you simply watch and that things are right in the world.

What are your dreams, cowboy, and your fears? How do you imagine you'll live the rest of your life? Tell me your deepest thoughts and I will hold them close in the wonder of knowing you. Give me the trust at least, that I would never harm you except for the marring of your flesh. My tongue running the length of the cut, your blood on my lips. Face flush, shallow breathe, the desire of possession is strong.

VR Cowboy

“Why aren’t you running,” she asked, smooth and deep, expecting him to go.
“I carry a gun m’aam, and mace,”
And the lady of poise and grace stared blankly, waiting,
Repeating her inquiry to which he then replied,
“I’m eating a reeses peanut butter cup, I can’t run and eat.”
She waited, her decorum and resolve waivering, heart in rapid ascension.
“Are you done eating?”
“Yes.”
“You can run now.”
The VR cowboy laughed deep.
The girl blushed.

I
Woke up just before four a.m., fried a pound of bacon, had coffee and a sandwich. I draw in the half light of dawn and write the sounds of stillness and serenity. Last night, decorum and grace sighed for the future sweet like juice dripping from the mouths of babes. And then you called. I write the intensity swelling in your gaze as you fucked me with your hands and eyes and voice indistinct, my face aflame. I return to dream.

II
Oh you frail boys, weak of body, weak of spirit. I wonder what made one cling to life and the other choose to leave. Both gone, body to the earth, I inherit your strength of passion and desire. I have no worries for in this day I reside no end in mind, but exist to enjoy and to stretch my arms wide to the suns warmth. And did either of you know what it’s like to awake from a dream, the day half gone?

Two weeks and a day.
And I awake each morn alive,
Heart beating restless.

I drove out to the county line.
Heading east, sun full behind the gray clouds
In the morning light like the moon
I smiled.

I tremble like a little girl vulnerable
Full of trust, full of hope
In the cool night.
I was not ready for this.
And god is always laughing.
I write like the cigarette lit
In an after haze cool and sweet blushing.
Did you think I wouldn’t.

I wear his cross like a candle lit.
It reminds of the bitterness of painful deaths,
Hard goodbyes and family ties
In water like blood. Like blood to the lips
Of Lilith breathing life into the earth.

Softly comes the cool night dreaming
Of passion and the wind aft blowing.
Softly whispers the warm water streaming
Of desire and the sun above burning.

Though you consume me, I lose not self
And that is the stuff of dreams.

Flesh. And the intensity of gaze.

The music streams in crackled lisps of my bass going. Soft songs play. I whispers thier depths and hum in deep tones. The darkness cool, owns it's shadows. They are out there in the playground and down near the creek. I turn for home.

Roses of a deep peach, the only kind I really like. I treat myself sweetly. I do things just like I said I never would again. No second thoughts, no regrets. A chance not taken is a cowardous heart.

Too late, I fell and it was ever before we met.

I
And the world felt strangely still.
The silence of the movement
About her was surreal.
She looked about
In wide-eyed wondered.

II
I want to probe
You with my tongue,
Taking a cool lick
Of gray brain matter
Salty like your skin in the sun,
Your shoulder warm.
Your intellect thrills me
As much as your taste
And the thought of you inside me.

III
Warm caress of breasts pressed tight
To a warm mouth and the back of your neck
Soft where my fingertips hold you.
Stop me now because I refuse to stop myself.

IV
Too late, the fall is here.

V
Artist: The Mavericks
Album: What a Crying Shame
Song: O What a Thrill

I
Friday I panicked, took a step back, poked at the frog in her glass dome. She stood staring, wide-eyed, wanting the fly. I wanted to tell her no, no fly for you, honey, but held off. When I left she was excited with the not knowing.

II
Yes, some of this is fiction and some too much thought, and some wonder of the infinite possibilities the future can hold. It is just the bits worth articulating unless you want to hear about my mundane days. I often write the things left unsaid to loved ones gone. And sometimes the ambiguous you slips in and I address no one. But if you ask, I will tell you, more often than not my thoughts are of you.

The "kids" are asleep, one on the couch, one in her room, and the puppies out in the yard. I move quietly through the day getting things settled, getting things put away, wishing you would call. Much of my life lay in boxes stacked by my window, but the front room is now ready to be let. I think to call my Dad again about the a/c, about my plumbing. There's rock out in the car needing to be taken up to the porch but it's so much to carry and so dirty. I want to fall asleep in the shade, let cool breezes lull me. I want to put my hand on your cheek, hold you inside me. Instead I stop to write, stop to draw, move forward through the day getting things done.

I
With precision and care she undoes the clasp, slowly drawing the chain about her neck until it is secure. Long fingers trace the gold, brushing the flesh around her collarbone comfortingly. Fingertips touch the tiny cross, tugging gently. “What are you doing to me?” she whispers.

“Time,” her daddy said. “Faith,” she thinks to herself, setting aside the past where doubt and worry were her enemies. And the water, cool and sweet, tripping up into sky blue dreams is almost palpable.

II
She falls, lightly laughing, her resolve waning
In a lyrical language of articulation
And all those words she’s found in the past span
Of time become the clarity of forbearance.

III
Today would have been my seventeenth wedding anniversary.
Tomorrow is a new day, bright and clear.

IV
“Fascination, attraction, passion may be born “at first sight”. Love is not. Loves requires knowledge and knowledge requires time.” - the Psychology of Romantic Love

She was nervous, afraid there would be no attraction despite their conversations. She knew she liked him too well already. Barely enough time to take in his full measure, she stepped forward wetting her lips at the same time he moved in for a kiss. And the Texas sun was warm as her face flushed deep. She moved forward through the day without intent.