Them

When he said, “The sun is up,” he expected her to reply, “It’ll get dark soon.”

Which she did.

In the gulf between their words were all the bridges that they’d found and built, burned and lost, and began and never finished, the metaphor for them.

Explaining

Explaining what you said

because you didn’t feel right in the head

(just like so many days)

Explaining away your life

it was all pain, sickness, and strife

(that’s why you wasted so much in bed)

Explaining away today

and how it all got away

(well, there’s always tomorrow, innit there?)

Explaining what went wrong

after everything is gone

(well, it really wasn’t your fault now, was it?)

 

Plans

She was in on the game

(or so you thought)

so you didn’t feel bad about what you did

What she told the cops

(or so you thought)

was all just a bunch of bull

Now you’re spending time

(a nickel became a dime)

just because what went down that week

If you ever get the chance

(once you’re outta this dance)

You’re gonna let her know what you think

Not the One

I am not the one in love

and I’m not the one pursuing a dream

I’m not the one questioning my life

or looking back on choices

I am not the one missing you

wondering where you’ve gone

I am not the one in a bed alone

never falling asleep

I am not the one with too much time

to do too little every day

I tell you,

if you see me, I’m not the one

it’s not me

Enough

He ignored the man in the crosswalk, almost hitting the guy, not laughing about it, but feeling smug — hey, what’s the problem? I didn’t hit you, you’re fine, so you had to wait two seconds. Big deal.

Speeding up, he cut across lanes, scaring and angering other drivers, shrugging them off, pulling into the parking lot with a little squeal of tires. A space was there to the left, the car just finishing backing out, so he pulled in, cutting off another who was waiting. “Sorry, you snooze, you lose,” he told the woman giving him the finger, giving her the finger back.

He walked straight across the street, making cars stop — what were they going to do, hit him? As he reached the curb, he heard a ding. It wasn’t his phone, he didn’t know what it was, so he shrugged it off, turning right to go across another street, not looking, expecting the others to stop —

The truck driver couldn’t see him. “The sun flashed in my eyes,” he said. “I didn’t expect anyone to be crossing the road, anyhow, because I had the green light.”

The wayward pedestrian was crushed under a wheel, almost like a fluke accident, he heard the police say as his spirit departed his body. Only then did he realize that the ding had been a warning.

Karma had said, enough.

His Nature

He saw a spot of blood on the path. One led to another, and then a series, about every thirty-six inches. They were not dry, but fresh. After following the blood for a few minutes (going north), he concluded the blood path went south, into the park.

After a moment, he followed the blood into the park. His nature didn’t allow any other outcome.

Into the Groove

Into the groove

thinking writing typing thinking

staring

coffee cup raised

staring

listening to the muses

staring

at the scenes

staring

hands poised over the keyboard

staring

head down

staring

into the groove

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