a.r. 20

The obsession of the lost cigarette.

I don't feel below my waist the urgency of mid-life movement. I have never freed myself from dark canyons of my minds eye and I can not break out of the melancholy hand placed upon my heart. Longing for the past to look as bright as the future would mean to live my remaining days in bliss.

Every color and every shape only reminds me of a painting I have yet to paint. And although the thoughts enter my mind often what ought to be done, I manage to leave it for another day and wane in longings that I hug at night.

I flourish in mediocrity.

These humankind trivial pursuits give God adequate reason to muddle with our confused destinations. I must choose well for there will be a time when my choice will be gone.

Electric light, I need sun...sun to heal my pale indecisiveness. I obsess about a lost cigarette although I had forgotten that I quit.

A breeze brings life to the stillness of branches overhead in bloom. A starry night reminds me of hope yet what are the details of my life you so insistently long to know?

Dreams are just dreams, something reality can not explain.

Is it truly unbearable? This knowledge of insignificance that we exist. Once we are in, it is so easy to get out yet we often lose our way. The ringing of the phone...If I could only silence myself.

Yet I would never misconstrue my being with solicitude would you?


a.r. 21

You knocked upon my window - I saw you and I did smile... I waited a bit to come to the glass but when I finally did, I could not open it - I had painted it shut. You said take a razor to its' edge - I said I was afraid I would cut myself...


a.r. 22

Hidden Messages. (rev)

Codes within my heart and my mind is seeking solace. I can't keep my mind off of you. You are closer than I thought. And I sit and I wait. A little bit of your holy ghost, your weary face that I have not kissed, still I know - I have to wait for hidden messages. I have found some love for you although I cry to understand. Life teaches us to die so when do we live? I am so close, too close that I can not see. Why do I lie? Trying to understand things I can't see hoping for a perfect soul. I cling finally to faith for proof is in the garden of love where I wait by the lily.

(This is written about a revelation that I had on Easter Sunday visiting a church. I hadn't been to church in years. I found my answers to my questions about Jesus. Faith and obedience - though I have always struggled with having proof or to just simply understand.)


a.r. 23


Butterflies are blue within my stomach.
How do I know the color?
My breath tells me so.
There seems to be so many
and every once-in-a-while they like to sleep.
If only they could sleep forever or
that they could escape from their entrapment.
This is how I feel.
As blue as their bluest wings.
A very pretty, rich blue that illuminates my belly.
It is comical to see.
Though the beautiful color,

these butterflies don't belong to me.
And they need to be set free.


a.r. 24

It's not the end of the world.

Coming to the realization that there is no way out.
No way out.
Piece by piece, I understand less but feel more.
The more I feel the more I feel the more I feel.
Pink notions come to me in a silence of uniqueness but
how is it he gets to go?
I am closing my eyes now. I am closing my eyes now.
You are a wonder to the church that abides
by laws of a boy.
Sweet smiles
and paint chips echo, echo
Does she have an agent?
Sitting in the kitchen,
at the small round table,
drinking her tea in her

she feels alone and gutted
but it's not the end of the world.


a.r. 25

Mary Wants.

yellow roses at her feet
while she hides behind her mask
of a faint halo
I can't hate her
because she thinks she is strong
yet she has become a victim
holding on to what could have been
she tosses it up, to the wind
then she walks the clothes line
while Jesus hangs to dry
her balance is uneasy
fearing to fall
she says reality tv looks better from under her dress
sign your name in her blood she says
sacred solicitor knocks upon her heart
and she longs to see the sun
while the unborn baby cries
in her dreams
too much past has passed
loneliness will be her new friend
and when she thought she saw Elvis at the 7 Eleven
she realized
we all die alone


a.r. 26


Confidently I change my mind without intention. It is without trying that I find myself now a person of presence. No longer the wallflower staring at boyish laughter, struck like a deer in headlights. Prodding, touching, feeling, taking... No longer do I allow it. I can say no. I have awakened with an identity. I slept with none. Change has taken place. Words spoken.


a.r. 27

Outside looking in on this Garden of life...late.

I woke to see life had changed and I didn't remember when, how or why. Had I been here too long? Yes I had. Yes I have. And where was my faith? I couldn't find it! I can't remember where I put it. Did I ever have it? I thought I did. This change was rapid. As rapid as a tulips beauty quick to bare stem. Make Haste! I need to go somewhere, get somewhere, but where? I am late!


a.r. 28

Words from the past beckon in silence. Deafening my ears to their noisy, quiet anxiety. As I mourn my youth the words have come often and often have come to ears of no listen. I have grown tired, even of love. My passion has traveled into my hands and I create what takes me years to achieve and also years to create. I am not at a loss of words but choose where and when they are uttered.

My listening skills have grown weary for I haven't heard in so long. Deaf to long lost emotions.

Volatile ramblings, of infantile young boys were welcomed, for they were better then none.


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