Chance Encounter

My mind is a maze of brainless cutaways.

Alternative alleyways of alleviating allocations. Always allowing a little leeway out of the situation. Alluringly elusive, what chance had I until now.

Touchdown.

I caught your eye in the middle of a thick crowd. You co-signed my hand sign and before we could question the equal sign, there we were making math. Adam and Eve wrapped in an animate dance while the animals watched in a trance.

Suddenly our breathing became saiyan vapors on a cloudy night. Backed by black, there rebelled the misty whisps of white. Taking a step back, shoulders still in class forming right angles like parallelograms, the question hung between us.

One step further and math wouldn’t be the only problem. One full explosion and there’d be no one left to solve it.

Beams glare, shining off of a reflective mirror. It seems there is air that’s clean here. Twenty thousand feet above Asgardian sea level. Flying high like a mountain soaring on the back of Aslan’s racing stripes, primate delight, I’m going ape with hype, this has been a close encounter of the strange kind, lowkey.

And now we’re back in line at the diner.

I open my mouth to place my order, then I smile at her. Her eyes twinkle with a knowing gleam. My hand shoves deep into my pocket, burying my phone in a grave of deadened ambition.

We’ve been down this road before.
Almost didn’t survive.
It’s a violation to receive a second chance twice.

We nodded slowly at each other.

I made my way to my table.

She rang many customers and I ate a lot of food. After the fifth refill of my drink I was like that one aunt we all have… bursting at the seams. I paid and tipped my cap to the fair lady. She smiled the fantasy I would never live. Some stories just aren’t meant to be told or revisited.

With the air of the President, I whooshed through the door without looking back.

And never…
Saw her…
Again.

###

Tale of a Rose

You survived your own mutiny.

Subdued the internal revolt.

Your battle scars are resolution and confidence… but that means you’ve got no scars to show.

From the outside they slander you as arrogant, condescending, unremorseful… they don’t see you on the mountain barely clinging…

You’re just a rose.

Fierce storms rise up in you. The why dids and why didn’t you’s. And truth be told, part of you wants them, even though they don’t want you and you reason within that if they could see you want them in your struggle that they’d want you too.

Second guesses multiply like fractions of a whole attention span in a 3rd grade math classroom.

Allegiance and loyalty challenged, where growth is the only measuring rod… “Don’t you see me on this mountain?” You say. “Don’t you see this… rose?”

Mudslides and dirty petals. Scruffy lookin nerd herder blacker than the pot that mocked kettle. No reward is worth this…

But it is, my friend, it is.

There is no turned rose tail to tell of in this tale of a rose…

Dust yourself off, and look how far you’ve come.

Leash those emotions and tell them- it’s time to move on.

People

It was to the queen that I turned to when the tide rose.  Accustomed to the bland kings and their drab prose I poked my nose in the direction of sympathetic winds and unlikely hypotheticals.

To the queen.

“Not I,” she said ever so gently.  “Not I. Not today. For it is not my time, and this is not time’s way.” Of course I knew what she meant.  I was a man and it was to men that I was heaven sent, but men are so stupid when you need something real- visceral miserable amidst this system nonsensical.  And now nobody understands what I’m saying.

Let me try again.

To the queen I turned… and she gently turned me away… To the ground my eyes burned… but it too pushed me away…

So I cried to my God. “Lord… please fix this.”  I’m still not quite sure if He listened, but my interactions within the ranks of my own gender have been laced with more tolerance. I don’t write people off as quick.  I don’t sneer my nose at the perceived lack of intelligence.  I work hard to give the gift I was given.

Patience…

The ultimate source of inspiration.

Dying People

I look around and all I see are people dying…

The gross stench of rotting life assaults my nostrils, my instincts become hostile- but then I take a moment to give one away.  Free of charge.  While the demons of humanity roam around freely at large, I freely free their humanity to BE large… a dance floor for their soul to moonwalk upon.

I’m smiling as I’m working and performing poetry… appalled that some days my most grandiose concerns are people genuinely knowing me, when really I should be gently sowing seeds of clarity to shaded eyes.  I’m smiling, but I’m sick inside.  That woman who just passed me by has domestic abuse in her eyes and troubles with her children ice skating the glowing veins in her skin.  I can smell the fear of death spiraling off of that old man, and am nearly blinded by the innocent courage of his grandson…

What am I doing?  I call myself the open mic for destiny to spit life, but my actions thus have left me powerless and with no power the room booms with my muted influence.

A slow winding trail of happily mourning bodies makes it way past me… I try to speak to them in passing, convincing myself that the grade of offhanded love is passing… No wonder I can’t make a change.

The horrid aroma is clogging my throat, forming a moat between the royalty locked inside my dome and the civilians on the other side.  On stage I become entertainment, in a church I’m some term with “praise” in it, at work it’s little more than paid enslavement, and when my imagination takes control I’m the hero of the day in it… fanciful illusion at best.  Heaven’s grasp extends itself to me with my every breath, granting life more when hell puffs its chest, it’s so fresh- angelic guidance and God’s grace.  I am the most broken of men… listed among the strong, but truthfully among the feeble…

All I see are dying people.

Everybody sleeps, but nobody dreams.   Capitalistic monsters posed as originality and ate creativity when in actuality cree-ate first… we were created at birth… creative genius is the cellular structure of our soul’s girth…

Dying people… dying people…

I look around and all I see are dying people living in a world of potential.  A world tilted at a steep decline, prepared to usher them to the mercilessly jagged rocks awash in the consuming waves of the ocean below.  These people… these dying people say nothing with their lips, though I beg them with all my might.  I offer to lay down my life, but it seems like only literal sacrifice will suffice at all.  They won’t talk.  They just walk.  Their hearts blink frantically- the erratic, desperate winking of their most vital organ attempting to attract the gaze of even the most desolate passerby.  All it takes to raise a flame, is one spark… All it takes to wake a life, is one heart…

Why not mine?

Why not mine.

That is the question I pose to myself… It is foolish to feud with the clueless about clues- to lie down in a coffin and reason out the exit from a mother’s womb.

Dark cannot recognize dark- only light.  Death cannot recognize death- only life.

And if I am claiming to be plagued by all of these dying people migrating through my life…

Why have I not yet given them mine?

Antigravity Boots

Seems like the “seems life” is coming undone at the seams… blinded by the very things we see… glitzy shackles and guaranteed wages, but this is still slavery. 

A glance up shoves heads down- smiling faces are battered until flipped upside down, as a people we are proud and strut around under imaginary crowns but the voices of our secret places are crying out so loud… so loud…

Release.

Feet glued like the shadow of the universe cast upon the moon… making moves with arms, hips, and lip talk, blowing a lot of smoke but no liftoff, selfishly trying to track down destiny but I get lost because destiny seems to always be tipped off…

Be grateful.

Release from the teasing embrace of emotions unfaithful. From heart twisted so hateful. The bank change we bank on volcanoes and bankrupts until the selfish tug is slipped like feet on rugs and we go loony like bugs… bunny.  Play a new tune, Super Vampire your life and emerge into your twilight in a new booth, and we both will be grateful.

The power of humans loving humans is unmistakable.  See the souls for the skins; see the royalty of all women and men.  Transcend accepted living and push for Heaven… hell is other people when we don’t.

Thank you.

Your liberty sets me free; your faith walk gives me wings.  And when we live unselfishly, God’s miracles become wealth for needs. We hit our knees to serve each other, live on purpose to love each other.  We are one team. One race. One ethnicity called humanity, together we gain victories.

Gratefulness prevents soul decay… open the door, be whole today…

Bi-winning in a straight way 😉

#HappyThanksgiving