I tilt the base back and forth
Watching the same grains of sand
become suspended in time

Your open arms were my harbor to my shipwrecked dreams

Your beach my bed where I lay my head

My nights were the stars in your eyes

Your kisses the comets I craved

The tides of change , tropical depression and hurricanes . . . as I curl my toes in wet sand

The grains in glass I seek
to balance out the spatial

I have that space now nothing more

No , nothing more .

Driven by red
riding hood,
wheels of eternity run
hot and cold
along the tracks
in her arm.

Around the bend
there are jigsaw
pieces of a puzzle,
scattered as destinations
once towns and villages,
now fodder for
the migrant beginner.

According to fable,
there's a wolf at the door,
home is no longer
a worthwhile rendezvous,
but a trap of origin.

Misery is a train ride,
a stray fantasy,
lingering in the wilderness
of her fractured mind.

She sells her gold bracelets,
for she needs
the dark coal,
she seeks
its deep freeze.

She can then
be many things
along the journey,
just never
a connection,
never a permanent signal.

We move through the night,
though the streets seem empty,
we look left and right,
electric vehicles are stealthy.

As we exercise stepwise, sunrise happens.
and black night fades its cover.
Like phoresy, painted, pieces of heaven,
the day opens with primary colors—
reds that delight, oranges that tease
and peacocking yellows that leaven.

As the counterfeit rainbow enchants and rouses,
streetlights waver and douse,
lights flicker on in houses,
and the earth blossoms active in borrowed hues.

Morning twinkles with its particular, angular light,
as we enter the still still lobby.
They’ve already set out the coffee!
With a sip, I feel the morning's started right.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Our Day Will Come by Amy Winehouse

I've got an hourglass of time
And people I've hurt
Countless as the sand in it
I've got a broken heart
Full of regret and pain
But you don't care
Once more, I stab the wound
That was once a person
A memory that I drank away
On a cold night
A memory burned out
Leaving cold ash
As countless as the sand
In my hourglass of time

We talk about the
past like it's a
movie we
watched together.
You liked the
cinematography.
I didn't care for the
cruelty of the
protagonist.

We disagree on the
theme, and every
scene holds different
aspects of
symbolism for us.
I'm not sure I want
there to be a sequel,
despite the good
acting.

Every interaction,
Whether fleeting or with traction,
Leads to some unforeseen action
That can cause a gaping wound.

Everyone you meet,
At your desk or in the street,
Could result in some great feat
You feel is over much too soon.

And it’s easy to lay blame,
At the ones who knew your name,
But who aren’t acting quite the same
As you’ve come to expect them too.

It’s far too easy to be the one
Whom the world has made undone,
Through the thoughtless actions of someone
That you really thought you knew.

But whether weathered by wicked words,
That were thrown at you, or overheard,
It’s really very quite absurd
To expect anything different in this game.

You know, it isn’t really about you,
Those pointed things they say and do,
That can only lead you to,
Anger, hate, and shame.

So when you feel you’re shrinking small,
And that you can’t handle it at all,
Walk through that illusory wall!
Be and do what you want to!

Remember they’re out of your control.
Don’t take it seriously. It’s drôle.
For only you can make you whole,
Or hold any power over you.