Chilly

"This passive stuff is for the birds, Michael," he shook his head slowly like a pendulum.

The night was growing darker, and you could see your breath.

Sam's sense of doom wanted for nothing. His face was dry, his chest hollow.

The trees twisted up from the ground like Black licorice.

"Mary is not going to like this," is all Michael said.

The quiet hung in the air, like the wind between the blades of a chopper. It was only a matter of time before it came around again.

The guys went inside the bar, the smoke from their cigarettes hanging in the air like a magic carpet. 

Then it was gone. 

The jukebox and the shrieking nightlife inside the bar overtook them as they went back inside, the pool sharks tapping their way to a win, the pick-up lines at the bar stools, and the bartender's worn but expectant face. 

"What'll it be, fellas?"

Sam put his fist on the table.

Clearing a Path

Clear a path through the chaos ever-tipping toward the rug

the coffeecup and wide-eyed cats the window as it shrugs

the stained glass plate the miserable fork

laughing sinks somehow retort

didn't you mean to do that, to your face?

Let the laughter shuffle through your mind like wild geese in a V

in formation yet mysteriously.

Let the mystery unfold like a paper origami swan

let the riverboat travel downstream like a Mark Twain movie

let the Vegas strip go quiet for one night.

That film noir man is lurking in the shadows

ready with a gaze that will stop the criminals

a daunting task for sure to be aware of the subliminal

like wild animals we are

in our furs, and our pearls.

Damn movies, always keep me up late at night

I found myself crying and wrapped up in a ball

when the credits rolled and I suddenly awoke

from a dream.

It was 2:00 AM and not early enough to wake.

I fell back asleep and dreamt of things tipping over

the chaos that would await me in the morning light.

But when it came, I felt serene

and merely thanked God for my fingers and toes

over coffee.

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Writing

I don't feel like writing today. 

My boss is up my nose, up my armpit.

I don't want to write, I want to walk.

I want to go to the Post Office to send 

a letter to a friend.

I want to dream, dance, drink juice.

I want to lay down for a moment.

I don't think I have anything to say.

This, this is the time when you absolutely must write.

Pick a Card

On the roof the shingles lay one over the other

like playing cards. 

The sandpaper spread out by the 

magician 

asking the sky

to pick a card.

Instantly - Things I've Heard 6 of 10

This is 6 of 10 for word swirls I am writing based on words from other people: as in things people said or wrote to me, or which I overheard.

"It's good to have coffee, even if it's Instant."

Funny how, instant is supposed to be so great,

but we all know instant coffee tastes awful

much less than the coffee that takes some time

and the drip coffee that takes the longest

tastes the best.

Arriving

Somewhere someone is longing for peace and quiet, somewhere someone is longing for some noise and excitement, or the patter of tiny footsteps. The grass is always greener--except for those who choose to grind. Some go 24-7, until they black out, but it doesn't need to get that far, until you need to call the doctor. When you are your own doctor, when you need to be somewhere but you're not, even, close, but you keep going: you are the someone in your mind. Now you've arrived.

Rain in the Field Full of Creeping Jenny

Lots of tiny lines, paper cuts in the skin

doodles on the page where the ink sets in

Draining out my blood these tattered lines

like cannon balls they hit my gut

and drop grenades in my mind

How will I ever find my blood

running through my veins again

like a freight train

when all this dead weight

holds me down

and makes me slumber

far too deeply?

Like dead animals in the woods

from their bones

tiny flowers creep

It's a sign of spring

and the tiny threads of creeping Jenny 

cover the dry earth, until it rains.

Gift of a Jacket

I pulled the tiny feather off my sweater, the feather was from my down jacket. The jacket was a gift. The feather was from a bird. The bird was from the sky. The sky was from the Universe. The Universe is from the sun, somehow. The sun is hot. It's a very roundabout relationship, me and the jacket and the sun--but it sure is keeping me warm, that jacket is. 

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5 of 10 - Let me know if this works for you

 "Let me know if this works for you" is 5 of 10 for word swirls I am writing based on words from other people: as in things people said or wrote to me, or which I overheard.

I left the letter on the shelf, let me know if this works for you.

I cracked open my sternum and left my heart on the plate, let me know if this works for you.

I shot myself in the foot and am using the tourniquet as a turban. I will walk slowly backwards, toward the river and dunk myself in, let me know if this works for you.

I will make the machines call us by name, cook us bread, and make reservations at the bed and breakfast, at half past noon. Spiders will walk across our hands as we get dressed, in long white gloves

to go dancing.

I will confuse the living shit out of you and call it art. 

Image source: https://remixvintage.com/product/vintage-ladies-day-gloves-pink-daisy-lace-pearls/

Goggins

David Goggins said he used to be a clown,

but sweet mother of Jesus, look at him now.

Anything is possible once you decide.

You just have to make up your mind.

Gossip

The whispers of girls, lured into groups to discuss the fuss.

Coffee constantly being bathed across tongues

in the bathtub of the news. Silently staring at magazines,

silently staring back at me.

I feel I know more than I want to.

Image source: https://favpng.com/index