Autumn came, Not that anyone noticed – Leaves changed, Watched from closed windows – Familiar scents, Blocked by masks – Sidewalk cafes, Closed, empty abandoned – A season, A life – On hold, On lockdown – The Earth turns, We stay still – Nature moves, We remain – Caught between, Safety and whimsy – Security …
The guitar looked lonely lying neglected on the floor. It seemed almost an afterthought in the otherwise well-appointed apartment. I felt almost compelled to ask about it, but the vibe of the room seemed to say it was best ignored. The party was small, as pretentious gatherings tend to be. The tunes were the latest …
Leaves dance, In afternoons lazy – Time flows, Through their pores – Moments exhaled, As CO2 gas – From linens, White, soft, welcoming – I respirate, Moments inhaled, exhaled
The train merged onto the mainline tracks and sped up. Beside the tracks buildings whipped by, each containing a life I’d never know. I looked down at the bento waiting for me. I’d picked it up at the station before boarding. One of my favorite parts of any rail journey is the bento I pick …
I walked out of my apartment and felt the breeze in the hallway. When we’d moved into this apartment, months before, I remember wondering what the open-air hallways would feel like when the warmth of late spring turned to fall and winter. I missed the transition, really. The last time I’d really spent any time …
Sunlight Upon the soft grain Of felled trees Arcs slowly – Branches Thick with leaves Cast playful shadows Dancing, swaying – Feet Warmed by rays Photons baked in Celestial furnaces – Time Marked in progression Of luminous projection Hours spent.
The Evening sun, Delight of the amber leaves Hangs in the still air – The air, only carrying Mellow, sweet Vibrations in harmony – The mood relaxed Stretched and rolled over In gentle repose wrapped in white sheets – I watch this moment Drinking a cold can Of the dregs of the day – Each …
I can’t watch The new Simpsons – I can’t listen to The new Chili Peppers – Maybe they are good Snobbery aside – Perhaps they are better than before If my pride allows – But the old The sweet Is frozen beautifully – Art in the quiet Museum of the soul Open to one patron …