for the time, I endure
onion tears and sear diced beef
pacing with patience
while layering the baking pot
frying off chopped bacon
and layering with mustard
ground pepper and sea salt to taste
stew for 45 moments
and three cigarettes
for my onion tear
I always get a kiss
The size of beds
Are like time
Relative
To occupation
Or absence
Ask anyone
Who’s partner is away
To describe the hardness
Of infinity
Or the gravity of return
She holds me with fierceness and fragility
her veneer like old paint on a utility door
so unsure with the internally rendered pain
of a thousand failing days
I will lightly sand those cruel flakes
with smooth care expectant of improvement
and reset the broken hinges she has been
left to hang on, replacing the bolt and lock
so she has full control of who she lets pass
She holds me with fierceness and fragility
longing for alterations not altercations
different times of high hopes holding
within her wearing frame and in that space
you will find me with one ear open
Soothing the doubts of a hundred
internal put downs, that can no longer be
I would bring cup to your face,
With my hands clasp
To pin you with pause
With kisses not undue, nor unexpected
Bring please to your lips with harmony,
And celebrate our hearts chorus,
Of love notes
Passed to one another,
On the old fridge door
That old fridge would become
A thing of passion
That would infuse our joining
And when the door is opened
Loves light will come on
To light up the notes
Placed with care,
On the old fridge door
That white door
So clean and pure
But with ever so slight,
Smudge of tape
That held our passion notes
When we tore them off
So we could make love
On the old fridge door
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I thought I would bring back my most popular post from my old Brain in a jar blog
The only reflection
that makes
sense
In the one gathered
in your eye
my projection
As the mist
is herded
down the river
My sight
can’t pierce
past that morning future
But the gentle
flow, following
that path
Has me thinking
this time
just hold on
And keep that
reflection
in your eye
The electric plug-in
air freshener comes
with three different
scents, of
Costal escape
neither of them
is of your tune
2012
I sometimes wonder
am I doing wrong
or right
Aye, but I cannae
see the shore
or the sky
I cannae know
if my sands
are smoothed
or smothered
each night
If I do wrong
am I doing
wrong right
when I
get right
wrong
when I cannae see
what ails
the soul
of a lover
Aye, but I cannae
see the shore
or the sky
I cannae know
if my sands
are smoothed
or smothered
each night
am I wrong
or am I right
Aye, when I cannae see
my shores
Your eye
nebula cloud
speckled star’d
eye
waiting, orbiting, what if
under that layer bright
there is a layer of else
a multiverse
universe
alternate
Your eye roving, aching
in morning mist
with super nova
where gravity is
what it must be
nebula speck’d exoplanets
graded bigger
then demoted
as Pluto
Clouds of child stars, atomic
dust, condensed heavy
your other nebula a twin
not identical but linked
being
the birther of generations,
cluster clouds
star nurseries
orbiting
the dark matter
energy
with its own
implied beauty
what are love on a blog
the chances where even
of finding the words themselves
speak of statistics calculate nor combine
but in plain and metaphor cancelling out
they would not chances with double
similarities
channeled doubt
How many times
have I reached out
my daylight hands
and grasped the mug
cold coffee as I wince
then smile
my mountain down
then think that my
petal lips will unfurl
to your night light
face as I root my
feet firmly in bog bottom
caves
but still my hunger
of sweet
will be sated
Brain In The Jar 