Poem: The Troubles

Pink rising floating far and to the bottom back again and
the petals swoop up in a whirlwind, back down again and

they fall

until it is evident they were never rising ever, but rather shooting into the horizon of naught, wandering far and far

and far and far.

Specks of brown filter in front of my eyes, dashes of blues and grays, sparkles of white. I hover dangling


supreme surprise on the horizon

(oh, the horizon!)

until I fall relentlessly back to earth into the shrub-brush that has held me thus far and I am built to the castle in the sky, thoughts and feelings flutter helplessly up and around and down and back around to my toes…

…the numbness supersedes the pain and I learn (again) to ignore all else in pursuit of the attainable….it is all attainable.

Friends, it is all attainable.

Heatherboard cork screwing and twisting into the breadth of the mysterious blackness. A void of nothing and everything, metal and flesh interconnected as if there is no tomorrow, or even yesterday, and only today (the here and now) matters.

I tell you with all clarity and sincerity that in order for this jigsaw of flotsam and jetsam to incorporate you, the mere player, you must give yourself relentlessly to it (as I have).

Fall down, merry friend, or forever hold your


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