No Time

Children’s laughter echoes off
patter-feet-ed floors

Crayons guard stairwells
Peanut butter coats the doors

They’re tiny and innocent
bringing smiles to stern eyes

But mom stands before
laundry in a heap
She won’t remember this
for lack of sleep

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Rush Hour

Soft silky snowy fingers
tremble in the wind –
clumsily tugging the door open.

You’re waiting for me there
across the winding icy river
of honking ducks and red tail feathers.

I’ll be with you tonight
if I can learn to wrangle the beast
and find warmth in car floors and seats.

Will you be unlocked
can you reach out to heat my hands
and fill my cold soul with sweet romance?

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The Flight of the Innocent


Nietzschean philosophies sew our thoughts to wings,
unfolding minds away from mundane and human beings.

We catapult far from ground, for the sake of reaching stars,
yet whatever it is we sought out floats in hazy dream shards.

Lost in the heavens, we breathe in Truth and Meaning -
Not knowing what the question was, not caring if we're Being.

As the high becomes the low and the world is falling fast,
the rush comes back with Purpose; the Question with a gasp.

One among another, looking up with amnesiac desire.
Why didn't I write it down? Why didn't I fly higher?

Curiosity is alight when feet touch hard ground,
but higher Understanding precludes taste, sight, touch, or sound.

"Why does man not see things?" with angst we ask ourselves.
The Observer Effect's in motion as our subjectivity overwhelms.
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Lo creado y lo real

El Puntazo del juicio
un pájaro apareció y siguió
el mano con el maíz.

En los Brazos de la madre-cita
acunan las promesas exquisitas
que no pueden acontecer.

La Falda cultivada y ambivalente
es la jaula de los hombres y lentamente
se vuelve loco todo el mundo.

Cada vez que intentamos
refinar los rotos años,
caemos de nuevo en nosotros mismos
perdidos en dos mundos
por siempre.

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between the imaginings of you and I
lives a quiet butterfly
dreaming of future trysts in the sky
she flutters her quiet, startled eyes

the creature can’t quite yet dare
to remove herself from her soft lair
although the outside tastes so sweet
her thoughts are distant from her feet

one day she’ll let herself out
to see the treetops as a heavenly scout
until then she will stay as she was designed
remaining trapped in her own mind

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Half Awake

through the window
crescent lucidity
shapes a conical design
against the flowered walls
of heaven’s devine

sleepy delight lingers
in memories of midnight kisses
saccharine lips and fingers
caught up in coiling tresses

there is ecstasy in touch
a vivid intimacy in whispers
blindness in belief
and a stolen quiet moment
before the shudder of release

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