Candy Conversation

Silence with you
Is like a smooth vanilla milkshake,
And your words
Are chunks of chocolate.
Every component is sweet
In it’s own way,
With it’s own texture and compliments
To the moments that come
Before and after.

Side Effects

I'm trying out a new sleeping pill, and it puts me in such a strange state. I seem to float; like gravity has become half-hearted in its efforts to keep me grounded. The world is in slow motion but I am sharp and clear. Like I know something the rest of the world forgot. How is one supposed to fall asleep when there are so many thoughts to think? So much to tell the world? This medicine may not work.

I flicker in and out of existence and memory.

I remember the passenger seat; the wind blows away my sigh but I hope my expression is visible. I can feel it, my look of catlike contentment as the night air softly brushes my hair across my face. The glow of neon lights ebbs and swells as we drive; I can see the colors through my closed eyelids. We’ll be there in minutes but I’ll be bucket-seat-dreaming for hours, half awake. I feel I am here, I am near but I am unattainable; I am the thing you forgot on the tip of your tongue that you can’t find to say when the moment finally comes. I am Almost. I am continually arriving but never quite in the door. I am the brief flicker in your peripheral vision that you just missed recognizing. I am the end of your favorite song when you turn on the radio; I am your eyes without prescription lenses.

I am not sleeping tonight.

Have you ever sung a song to someone that wasn’t there? Have you ever talked to God through the ceiling? Have you ever been sad to outgrow a favorite toy; have you ever been homesick in your room.

When I was a child I would put some of my allowance into my coat pocket before it was put away for spring and summer. I always hoped that I would forget, and have a pleasant surprise when winter came again. Sometimes I remembered. One year I dug the coat out of storage so I could spend the money on a giant stuffed whale.

Maybe I should start doing that again; I need a pleasant surprise when the weather gets cold.

I’m cold now, even on a night during a summer swell. But then again, I could possibly be dreaming. Maybe the medicine is working after all; with these clouds in my head I'd never know. I guess that's why the bottle says not to operate heavy machinery.

A Quartet of Unrelated Thoughts, Poetically

I hate the word “disease”.
It’s like spiders,
Or worms;
Something rotten,
Moldy cheese.
A defective specimen,
Like God said “oops!”
As something melted
In the oven.

I like the concept
Of mushrooms,
The way they thrive
On neglect.
Their elegant forms
And fairy rings;
The magical properties
Of decay.

Sometimes I wonder
If bugs feel pain,
And then I am overwhelmed
With guilt
For every crushed spider.
After all, they eat the flies;
What did they ever do
To me?
How very violent
The sole of my shoe.

Often I wish
That I could fly,
If only because then
I might not be so very bad
With directions.


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