Off 57.

The sun's heat radiates off all it's surroundings

and for a moment I can actually feel.

Off to find a burnt cup of coffee,

in some shop off 57 by my folks place...

For a time I can slump in poor posture,

relaxed in my chair.

Gazing off to the interchange in my periphery...

and feel all right about this entire situation.

I haven't mourned yet,

all I've had is this anger

vascilating with

a strange since of relief.

But I'm waiting for the mourning.

I know it's going to creep in, to

replace the twisted since of betrayl

that weighs time to time in my gut.

 Anything is better than that.

It has to peek it's head out sooner

or later, no?

If this was my last day on this fine earth

I'd prefer that my life was full of love.

and not anger for patterns out of my control.

I've regret for how long we languished.

As well sadness about the delivery of the end,

it should've been

not needed.

But I'm greatful for experience.

As it's time to go on, on my own.

Still no Regrets

There wasn't a better time.
There possibly could've been
worse.
Ways for this to end,
worse.
Could've been further on down

You could've wasted 12 years.

I don't feel the last 4 have been
a waste, and things have been off
for quite some time.

But I knew better, I knew the intent.

I just wish we were both more clear.

Me for how I felt, you with your plans.

It's funny, when did this stop being about
"Us" and more about our seperateness?

We are creatures, we are timely beings.

But the world keeps on spinning, doesn't it baby?

I've still no regrets.

Ancora imparando

It was one of those days,
warm beyond comfort.

Those days that you're glad
that it's the opposing train
bearing down on you, so that you
can feel the rush from the tunnel.

Earlier in the day I was talking to a friend
in Ani DiFranco laced thoughts - we can hold
a mirrior up in front of our beloved ones till
our arms get tired, but until they catch
the reflection, and see for themselves -

there is nothing to be done.

It's time to hold that mirror up
myself.

I hope you can do the same.

molto molto vero

I once knew a man.
I once knew of a man.
That could feel the ocean
lap against his thigh.

He'd walk most anywhere
from the forest to the sea.
With thought of circumstantial
nature in his head. Or of his
present worries - to be honest,
I dont know what he thought of...

I'd like to think it was something original.
And something of importance.
That was entirely to important to say.

I wish he would've stayed near,
He probably did as well.

Imagine to take a sneak
into that penta-prisim,
and hope it helps for you,
for us, to keep perspective.

Of what was, and what is to be.

Street Sweeper.

I watch the street for the street sweeper,

every Thursday morning.

I sit on the front couch,

and stare like a hawk.

It's a finger drumming event,

pulling my mouth's one corner taught and

then again releasing.

Eye stretched all rubberband'd.

Once it scrubbed and varnished my car.

And left me a note with demand for fifty dollars. 

As such an old man with burred hands

and old tee shirt for a rag reached

at my dress shoes in South Station one day.

I'd like for it to not happen again,

I'll keep an eye out.

Just remember to keep watch, I do.

Keep thought that light moves quickly.

Faster than the speed of sound.