...extracting wisdom...

this is because of:

melon and scooter pies

blankets full of stems, sticks

and politics

I cover your back 

with mine

you signal to fix

eyes on the still

of the smile

(after words

form their digression)

...humming...

his goal of echo

was achieved 

even though the sound

stuck in the crowd

and never returned

back from the 

red brick wall.

...deviant power...

reception ladies phone lines

crossed lines like stormed over

lamplights and powerpolls

(as briefly as the sky opens

up it closes, sleeping on the soft

side of the pillow)

the dreams are now clever

as they fuck with you

when you think about the eyes

being opened before

they reach 

the state

...accidental sail...

busted up

the charts

(the winds fill it up)

(the waster begins wander)

crafted out for rent

shorter sea side

than the charted

course we had set

but we will get there

none-the-less

(sway left)

(stray left)

...not a poem, a complaint...

Last night, at around 2am,

August 5th,

I had five great quatrains

sitting on my screen,

not intended to be a blog or anything,

more intended for a crafted poem

and they were really good             you know,

when you push the chair back from 

the desk and go "How the fuck did I do that?"

and then 

I hit something. 

And then I lost it.

And then I searched for it for the next hour.

And I could not find it. And now, I am really

pissed about this. You would be too if you 

saw them. 

(needed to get that out there...)