Running, Flying, Landing

The house I grew up in was at the top of a hill.

The corner market was down the hill. 

My school was down the hill.

The polyg house was down the hill.

I remember the cool mornings of autumn.

I would walk out the front door and down the steps.

My breath rises like smoke from a locomotive.

I would turn to the west and look down the hill,

I ran.

I took off like a sprinter hearing the starter pistol.

It was a little over a block from my house to the polyg house.

I ran faster and faster.

Halfway down the hill, the large polyg house would come into view and I would start jumping.

Going faster and farther with each jump the cold air would sand skin from my cheeks.

The bottom of the hill approached closer with each jump.

For a moment I was freed from the earth and I would fly. 

I reached the bottom of the hill, my cheeks burning but my flesh was intact.

I failed to run out of my skin, nothing was revealed.

Rosy cheeks were the only evidence of the effort spent.

I stopped at the bottom of the hill everything I ran from was still there with me.

Poetry of Lost Loves of Linear Time

I am alone.

I wallow in my solitude to find the joy.

The punishment that karma deals me has me rick rolling around it like a pig in shit.

I have forty-three years in linear time.

People loved and hated with me along the road.

Alone is a state like liquid, gas, solid and alone.

The transcendental control of your existence like Elie's Night lets you choose your state.

Friends love me and could change my state to solid and leave alone to the side.

Among these friends that love some wait to be in love with me.

There is only one chance to break from hating with me to hating me, be in love with me.

Some friends wait in serenity and until that moment of being in love comes I never know.

There are others that time and circumstance and the pressure of solitude have left us in our alones.

There are times I grab golden idols and leave friends in love at the rest stop hitching on their backs

Traveling on your back breaks your bridges and leaves you alone shouting across ravines.

Golden idols are heavy to carry and time rolls on and I set them down,

I travel to the rest stop for love waiting there

Love is there and she is waiting across the ravine at the footing of a broken bridge.

She is looking past, me through me and I look into the ravine that I started with the golden shovel.

Decisions are a bitch, time, linear as it is, brings the wheel of consequence and I choose alone.

The Dumpster Fire

I am feeling good these days.  I am the happiest I have been in recent memory.  Despite me being sick I have friends that love and support a sister that worries more about me than I do and makes sure I am okay.  I have a house to lay my pretty head to rest in.  By far and away my best divorce ever!  I believe I will have a friendship with my most recent ex-wife for the foreseeable future.

My life is starting fresh.  It is like having someone deliver a brand new six-yard dumpster for my personal use and all I have to do is avoid a dumpster fire.

I know what causes dumpster fires, I have set many a dumpster fire in my life, one might even say I could have gone pro.

For the past two weeks I have been filling my brand new dumpster with used oily rags and now that I have filled up the dumpster to the top I have decided to throw lit matches into the dumpster.

I possess the intellect that I am able to take a step outside myself and look around and I say to myself, self what the fuck are you doing?  That is going to cause a dumpster fire!

I immediately stop throwing matches into the dumpster but I leave it full of the oily rags and then a couple of days pass and I find myself throwing matches into the dumpster.

In case you don't know me and the analogy is lost on you, the oily rags are people with "issues", and the matches are bad decisions.  Truth time, the oil rags are women with "issues" and feel l some kind of heretofore unheard of force of attraction.  I was going to leave it vague but there are two groups of people that read this blog, the first are people that know me and know I have an issue chasing the "wrong" women and the second group are people that may not know about dumpster fire analogies.

I think I need to go on vacation and put some distance between me and my dumpster and maybe avoid a fire.

My Wife Left

My wife left.

She gave me Del Taco before she left.

It was the day after I told everyone I had been abused as a child.

Time ticks slowly, no slower than before, slowly.

I have not written anything since she left.

Writing now.

There are demons and angels that escape when I write.

I held the demons and angels close since she left.

I needed the company.

Voices of the dark and the light kept me warm company.

Love should be unconditional.

There were two wives before.

Conditions of love.

Past holds their conditions of love.

I love my wife without conditions.

It watched her leave out the door.

Love can hold, fortify, comfort, warm....

Love won't chase the fleeing, flying, leaving.

Maybe it could chase but it won't.

Ten years together, not alone.

Two months alone reveals the truth.

I am less alone today than I have been for years.