Archive for June, 2012

June 30, 2012

Heat Wave Today

Heat stroke and sweating to death.

Hand in hand, perfectly manipulated into meaning.


Dew points up in the 70’s, pleasantly.


Rightly so, left on your own, you and the heat.


Touch is torture, laying not holding.

The AC unit is making itself comfortable crawling through your window, as if robots were best friends.

Robbing us of energy and currency.

Plugged in.


As if you weren’t in love with a machine.

As if this machine wasn’t once a dream.


I know I can turn it on.

The thought turns me off.


Likewise, dumbfounded.

There is no response only buzzing and spent fuel.


Time stops.


Solely on your own, not a soul to swap.

The devil is in the details and we are in his climate.


Smoking crack in the garage while a baby sleeps in a swing.

These are a few of my favorite things.


Extraordinarily out of the ordinary.

Still hot, not as hot as the shakes make it though.


She said she stopped she said, she doesn’t touch the stuff.

She shook as she thought.


Eyes vacant and withdrawn, stuck inside her head.  In the middle of blackened flesh.  She sleeps, yeah.  She says.


What is the reason for so many witnesses and no response?

No one stepped forward.


What is the reason for all hope lost?


The heat got to my head, maybe blurry vision.

Possibly imagined.


The temperature made me do it.


Seeing plainly.



When a shower adds a few hours, when the sun devours.

Flowers flourish, weeds grow around them to be plucked.


Rooted and left on the cement to dry.


That’s life.


Clothing stuck to you like a pin, like they won’t just come off already.

Like wet paint.

The smell makes it worse.

Work for it.

Pulling and tugging, exhaustion of exhausted.

Only in a days time.


Tear it out like an alien form residing within.

But you can’t and you won’t.




You wish for this weather when on the horizon a snow storm transpires.

All these machines and no wires.  All these components and no wires.


Nothing is connected.

The sun makes me tired.




Ancient people, wearing all leather everything walking through the dusted soil.  Wind blowing.  I wonder how they handled.  The 40’s I wonder how people handled it then.  Sweat shops, I wonder how people who worked in sweat shops did it.  Documented testimonials seem few and far between.  I don’t think many want to read on discomfort.  The heat is getting to me even as I write.

June 23, 2012

Make My Day (Some of the Few)

Focus, focus, focus.


Eyes on the prize.

Farsighted with telescoped vantage on the inevitable.

A distant path with so much to pass.

Standing, and sitting in advantage.

Accounting for complete as average.


Lost track, who’s to say?

We miss nothing.

What is contented?


Politely greeting everything and nothing time and time again.

All listed, presently enlisted.

A realistic and tedious inventory to self-glory.

Mundane and banal existence not to bore me.


There are many angles to a detailed description.

Vaguely scripted.




We are so gifted.

We are very opinionated.


Focus, focus, focus.


Do it too hard, too excessive, and it becomes ineffective.

Experimenting with sentiment and incentive.

Exclusive to self and highly practiced in doubt.


Are we challenged without?

Are we challenged without?


Focus, focus, focus.


And we do it for ourselves and all those about.

And we try as we may to the dismay of others.

And we are sisters, brothers, fathers, mothers, and lovers.

We mostly get along enough to find others.


Focus, focus, focus.


The Dawn transpires; sun rising in the East creating heat and presence.

The land is green, full of promise; soil rich, dark-black gold, open arms for a readied seed.

The people we meet, still standing on feet, who challenge us inspire; diversity, unity; symbiotic gratuity, and perception are all thrown into the fire.

Daily puzzles, enigmas, situations, and stigmas all exist as life’s earned insignia, an acknowledgement of past, present, and future.

And the sun goes down with dusk and promises of a more prosperous tomorrow.


We can all relate.

And we should all be proud.


These happenings go on with or without us, whether taken into consideration or not.  What is good and what is bad; is nothing but intangible and contrived.  Labels created to divide.  All is the same, day after day.  The only thing that changes is our minds.

Does your soul smile at whatever comes its way?



It could have gone-



Egg, toast, coffee.

Defecate, stretch.


Physical labor, thought process, stress, water.


Toast, butter, salad, alcohol, visual stimulation.

Read, write, brush teeth, remove contacts.



It is not what it is, it is what you make it.  How was yours?  And did you fake it?

June 12, 2012

A Momentary Goodbye

Just Breathing

By A Great American Poet,

Terry Scott Niebeling


Just breathing-barely, faintly, sucking air while assessing the situation.

How to care?

Floating away, slowly.

The pain is real.

Warmth is predominantly close within.

Unfamiliar people stare without an arm to spare.

Existing; a boat listing, yet afloat, an imagined sea on a shallow infested moat.

Slumped to a wall.

Composing priceless works for charity, of my own volition in my head.

Friends, family, and love wishing to be in my vision, sick dreams of missing, music skipping and so on.

Sitting on the floor waiting for the mission; ever patient assassin reading, laughing, full of options for expansion on a transaction.

Unlike career, steer clear as they come, we run cause we see clear, not out of fear, we keep running.

Avoiding them as the sun’s gravity pulls closer burning flesh, to leave it pinked and damaged for cancer sake in the end.

Now that doesn’t effect me.

Now I don’t think that will affect me.

Somethings are more immediate.

The lesser of two evils, always two.

And ten more.

Mostly more, though.

Life isn’t always black and white-there is an invisible area.

My teeth are still straight, still close to white, and still the envy of others at the free church dinner as I smile.

They will grace my funeral well, fixed, I hope, head propped up grinning.

They cost me a few bucks, love you, can I get a hug?

Eyes pitted, red where the white should be, and my flesh is turning surprisingly pale.

Freedom is free, but little pay can buy anything by freedom’s standards.

The cost, the casket, the hole, the processions, the words, the pictures, the tissues, and lunch.

Who pays, and do we tip the servers?

I volunteer ideas, suggest thought, give perspective, though with all the noise I doubt they hear it.

Passionately watching a loved one leave me for another.


Time goes on, but time will tell.

Moan and move on as well.

Where is my family?


I breathe heavy.

Pleasantly in anguish from disease, malign concern, and ever present uncertainty.

Leaking like ceilings in a slummed-out high-rise with poorly maintained, and outdated, plumbing.

We just know this.

This is what we know.

A growing boy as I eat, I think of those who can’t, or who do and expel their meals to fit in.

To sit thin in the writ-in witted crowds of the absurdity.

Get your goals from a magazine.

Get your novel ideas on the telly.

Stunted at the moment, too much coffee.

Maybe it will be the last.

Saturated with facades.

Blinded by improper thought and fleeting delusions.

Crowned clever, and he lost his head.

Happily outside of the burning fire of unpaid bills and bounced checks, as if they could catch fire and float away forever.

Possibly they could cause a forest fire.  Oh! The irony!

I am terribly concerned.

Life’s boundaries and desires are locked up in a cage in our head, the key is in our stomach.

I have a gut feeling about it.


Start digging.

And then I expired, but not really.

Found out I just had a cold, and I am still here to complain about it.

A side note:

Can’t help it that I’m happy.  Listening to Lennon reading Hemingway.  I don’t care what they say.  I think I’ll have a good day.  Big smile on my face, ready for life to take place.  Enjoy every moment of your life, that’s right.  Feels right anyway.




June 8, 2012

The Good Life/We Can all Relate to Empathy

My plate says full, my glass says Tiffany.

Have a cigar.

I do.

Buy a car only to die in it.

I didn’t know money tasted so vain.

I didn’t know lonely drove insane to inane.

Debt was only delightful when it was gone.

Back to boredom.

Back: broken and bent; chiropractorless, eyes white and spent-

Enjoying years of viewing your envy.

Jealous nature; childlike.

Finally back to the basics again.

Then again (ha, ha).

Finally avoiding patience, because we all have our days.

Wait.   (just a second)

Burying the dead and famous in the basement.

Only one thing:  I miss my family.

We never planned to be.

Asking for nothing but your very best, and everything, and all the rest.

Mediocre is nicely dressed and addressed.


Changing lifestyles while overthrowing kings.

Living long, minute by minute, second by second, longevity is second nature.

Aphasia-and you think:  what’s the wager?

Again, what’s the wager?  (must of forgot)

Longevity of irritation and submission.

Long live this thing.

Kin to foresee.

King longing to be free.

The leaves cling to the trees so desperately, depressingly, in the fall, to be replaced by new buds in the spring.

Flings happen.

We see how this works:  This fame thing.

Fertile ground beneath feet, tread softly on roots of catalyst or cataclysm.