What is it, that pounds in the pit of stomach, that tastes a bit metallic?
A sharp bite to eat that brings a couple of drops of tears to the corners of my eyes
Reflecting images of memories being replayed in my peripheral vision;
Tempting constant sideways glances to count down the minutes
for just that one look
that one picture
Trying to capture it all,
As a ghost, facing everyone backsides front, all wrong
Offering open hands with determination; consternation?
Always waiting for just a part of an explanation
to feel welcomed, even after spilling out any truth or story
Disregarding modern ways and dialing the numbers of fate on the pay phone, by the theatre where
the grand opening of the new story is featuring
About a boy, who grew up to be a man
A mortal without the limitations of the jaded, the wasted
A new lover’s exhale offering every fresh breath a small prayer;
Requesting them to be sacred gusts of wind to travel,
In a straight line to those connected.

I am grateful for every connection. ❤


A little bow to some inspiration:


Red Hot Chili Peppers/By The Way/Dosed


Radiohead/The Bends/Street Spirit

Muse/The 2nd Law/Explorers

Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young/Déjà vu/Teach Your Children

Oceanlab/Sirens of the Sea/Miracle

3 responses »

  1. i love your writing and sense of connection… but I particularly love this feeling of metal, edges, frustration…. thanks for sharing, Namaste 🙂

  2. Pingback: Monthly Archives: April 2013 | Muse Writer

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