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I’m still with you.
I am still with you.
I am still with you?
Is it really tomorrow?


The Illusions

I am right and you are wrong.

When we fight and I am right, we move on.

When we fight and I am wrong,

again and again you hear my song.


I choose not to thank you,

for anything you put forth to me.

Rather, there is always something you forget,

and that was always the more important thing to see.


You put your work ahead of me.

You put your work ahead of yourself.

You convince yourself you are constantly stumbling,

But you are living in a vat of wealth.


And for this I must understand

What skewed morals do you uphold?

Is not the most important thing love and romance?

Because life is a piece of cake dipped in gold.


How did everything turn to black and white?

Flip upright?

life should be.

We can wake up again before the sunrise.
Steadily slip out down the driveway to the wide open spanse of green.
Settle down on the stark wooden bench we’ve known a lifetime.
Pass a thought here or there, else not heard nor seen.

Driven by sun, inching closer towards the horizon.
I often miss that blanket of mist that smothers our aging, weathering field.
Months slip past, again we forget our need to blink.
Only reminded of our faults when the suns beams lead our mist to yield.

If the morning mist held out, not just only for the sunrise.
We’d stare into our futures ’til the end, living nothing along the way.
Inhaling each sharp, cool breath of grassy air.
But this mist we’ve lost ourselves in lacks dimension. Blurry and grey.

Only certain of each breath that infiltrates our lungs.
As I feel my chest expand and even still, a tainted doubt often remains within.
This bench we’ve long forgotten, now cracked, unstable and chipping of it’s last brush of paint.
Leaves a yearning pit in my stomach, I’d settle just for one more morning, again.

I can’t move forward every day,
And setbacks will put me miles away from here and now.
But letting go of the simplicities I’ve always loved,
For the sake of a faster forward, just isn’t how.


I want to remember what it is to be driven by your presence.

Shipped to the extremities. There’s no such thing as reverse.

I’ve shaped a new world around the impediments encountered.

But it’s the distortions and you’ll find, now, I’m harder to traverse.


I hike this direction , day in, day out.

Closing my eyes each minute to envision the end. 

My weight wears steadily and unevenly into the soles of your shoes.

So, the holes grow bigger. You’ve no clarity to lend.


I’ve carved my name into the bench. 

And watched the wind blow the shavings to the greenbelt floor.

Drifting lightly and simply though the waves of the air,

Dispersing into nothing more.


If you could chose the Texas blackberries or Pennsylvania raspberries,

Would the sacrifice to you be as dear to you as mine?

Could you push aside the thorns and accept the thin bleeding scrapes,

To pick that juiciest berry at the top of the vine?


What’s more important than the largest bowl or the pick of the litter,

Is putting in the time. And, so if I don’t give you mine.




A Thousand Million Points to Consider

Practical over pleasure.
But that doesn’t mean never.

A delicate balancing of the heart.
Over, over and again you restart.

In consciousness you act as to be seen,
But impervious, on no reputation you lean.

It’s the drive to be safe in the world that you tread.
Never quite knowing the path down which you’ve been lead.

Do you rush past the blossoms and beetles that crawl?
Or observe the fine details of every and all?

For what you see is a Faberge reflection.
But simply remorse reveals no point of inflection.

It slips further unchanged, forgotten it’s injustice.
And all the other can do is trust us.

To everyone ever, I’d like to communicate too.
It’s hard without you. Harder with you.

I shouldn’t write tonight

Too many inputs.

Too many sources.

Too many endings.

And I haven’t had a chance to roll it all up.


Now, that I’m talking like a coworker.

Forgive me for my misconseptions.

For responding before I fully understand.



Regular Expressions

Sometimes \w{2}\s\w{1}\s\w{12} you still feel disconnected.

What is your ip again?

Or maybe we forgot mine.





I don’t know.