Felt Like Nebraska

Never could fathom the ’70’s
What 60’s Kids admired
Left this old soul bewildered
These eyes always seemed to need the sun
Mediocre music, odd politics
Old Paint horsepower commanded by screaming chickens
Oh, the Pacers that couldn’t keep up
But for that tripartite campout for peace
Those white-washed years are yours
Such conspiracy — felt like Nebraska

Bring me King Elvis
King of Cool — or Dean, if you please
War heroes at the helm
Courage in the courts
Damn right, Topeka — you’re wrong
Steel with Crowns
Jets
Chieftains
Bench seats so we can stay close on cold nights
California Dreaming, it seems…my zodiac sign

In Our Fifties

Our chartreuse-colored love

The ugly chair now, that we don’t wish to sit in or admit brought comfort, respite

Nor will we throw it away

We mourn it in the kitchen like a death
Seemingly forever, while surrounded with casseroles of comfort food brought to us by well-meaning “friends”

We watch it as an epic film of someone else’s life
Sitting in the dark, screaming at the screen, warning of their err, fall from grace, then trauma

We escape it with our wanderlust-filled travels near and far
Photographing nature, plus wild wildlife who in-turn, chase us as we sleep, pseudo-nightmares that wake us at 3am

We do this
You, there, and me, here

Silk and brocade-covered hardwood frames we were and we are
Camaraderie and adventure that was to have brought us peace
Closure to the aching

What color was it initially, before the fade, we ask ourselves over and over

What we know for certain — it was an heirloom love

Before the spit up and sweaty workaday clothes soiled it
Before the pained animals in us tore it to shreds
Before our childhood loneliness, unresolved, relegated us to our corners in our fifties — upper lips bloodied, both of us

Walking attachment disorders, detached by default, from each other
All in one, single day

Eventually, we go to the curb with this shredded chartreuse thing

Pack up and move far away

Looking from the rear-view mirror at what was, we draw others’ ire as we drive too-slow down that road

It is always dusty Summer in our hearts’ mind’s eye

Sin and God

I see you tucked away, there in the corner of this epic adventure.
A stowaway undermining, under the guise of love and concern.

I come for inspection, to work, and for respite every couple of days and we lock eyes.
With your back to me, and a mirror before you, I watch you watch me plead hello.
There’s a reason you do not respond to my greetings until the awkwardness becomes too thick to ignore me anymore.

You’re stealing and hoarding and leveraging me and what’s mine.

The awesome view from on high.
The space I’ve created to just be.
The aura I emit.
My ample supply of lust and cinnamon breakfast cereal.
My apathy in attending properly to it all.

Until yesterday, when the doorman warned me, so gracefully, you must go.

More precisely that I must say to you.
When you’re here, you’re not yourself, thus this means it’s time.
The Welcome sign at my doorstep you’ve taken far too far, my friend….
It was never meant for you, you know, I see.
Sin and God told me.

The Art of Making

The Scene: You are an actor and I, an epic script
With minds to set the screen afire
With hope upon our lips

The Method: Be emboldened and feel the risk with me
We’ll project timeless, endless strength
We’ll cast doubt to the sea

If Not Epic, Nothing

A mistake

Of epic, inhuman error

That looks more like betting the house on a whim

Than burning the breakfast toast

As if the gods had prodded

While I, fresh out of faith, felt forced to obey

Lest my heart be finally ripped from me

And my body thrown down the temple stairs

Hemispheres

I’ll pretend I don’t know nothin’
You pretend you’ll set me straight
That somehow I’ll know somethin’

You were bid down under
To be taken down under
And be taken with the down under

Only to emerge
Having seen the tapestry
From below and above, in full

You were chosen to taste fear
To digest metal
That your feet would seek magnetic North

I, the storyteller in training
You, the epic tale
We, one mind, two hemispheres

Steph: An Epic Poem

She,
I think,
Would be Stephanie
A love I didn’t know I needed
A friend from a Friend
Both martyred
For, what are true friends for?

She,
Stephanie,
Would have gifted me
A kind word
A wise word
Both since otherwise elusive in my world
For, looking back, what did I expect?

She,
Steph, we’d have called her,
Would be a poem -nay, is a poem
A poem and sister to a brother
A work of art with no end, they are
Both Epic story-songs
For, hear thou, their lyrical air?

She,
Stephanie,
Would be safe from me now
A sword of truth having pierced my soul
A prayer of forgiveness asked
Both to self and sin, I desire to die
For what, but abandonment, is there?

She,
Stephanie,
Would be thirty soon
A soul eternal
A girl, a woman
Both alive
For, ‘tho I don’t deserve, why too am I?

Ode to Socrates

I knew nothing before you
Not a worthwhile thing
When to climb to heights
Why all feels imprecise
Where I ought to look
To sometimes not think twice

I knew nothing before you
Nothing that meant a fig
How I have it all
Why I love baseball
Not even my name
To rise again, post-fall

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Credits

On the way to midnight
Honestly aren't you tired
Rumination
Maturation
Arrested

Comparison
The hair on her
The mess on him
The should have knowns and unknowns
The old film reels replay

All the while they don't care
They smile
One dimensional grins
As your epic fizzles
And fades to black