Little Life, Little Hell

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Just this once, for the rest of your life. You start and stop and start again. Greet the world at 21, the girl, the job, the starry sights. Before you know, you're 25, you blinked it by. You sleep tonight, just like them, and then, again, again you're 21. Forget the end. Forget the wife. You lived it then, you will til when. It's coming back, it comes around, you're 25, it's over now. Younger days are bound to bend, this sleepless cycle just pretends. You cannot die, you cannot end, young until you're young again. Never born but never dead.

A Shelf Behind

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I have a hard time with waiting. As if every single act has an ideal instance of action, and they all land on the back burner until the moment shows itself. In subsequent truth, I now own a vast shelf of ignored ideas and trials, passed their prime, missed out on, lost in their own space just to fill a corner of future conversation where I once had a thought and lost it to a whim. Each moment itself a ghost of my former face in a former time and former place, left and left forever; only for me to visit in regret and faded contemplation of glory days that never quite made it. I get so lost in my mind, the last to pull a thread, the anxious awe my name, I've lived in vivid waves.

Strange Enough

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Days like this, I come to places like this and just to sit, just to watch. Take a seat a seat at the strangest table and watch the strangest lives surround. Strange enough to love, but only as an observer. Strange enough to still-life in a frame that isn't mine. Leave a seat here open, pulled aside a bit. A lasting invitation, and a friendliest decline. These days all play like B-sides...an after thought, post-everything and undefined.

In Gardens

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Not all that follows are ghosts. We live clumsily among the garden of our past, and though we move, fatefully forward, any second’s stumble sends us back. That song, alive, the sound of longing now, the sound of laughter so. Smiles stretching back, tears we're holding back, a love for reaching back. Forever is only times we've strung together.

Starry Spaces

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I've sat in circles, in the center of the room with faces flush for conversation in a way I've always known. The walls have ways of fading, the faces all grow faceless. Their words yet spilling where their formless mouths believe, in these rooms I've all but left, watch my starry eyes recede. I've gone to all the spaces, to find the in-between.