The Spell Is Everything

Some Harmony

It had been 12 days since
The last time we had heard
Or seen anyone,
When the Upchurches turned on me.

It isn’t boring.
The Sky opens for me sometimes,
The light plays with the shadow,
Making contrast,
Beautiful contrast,
Thus is created shape,
Distinction,
Perspective, Place
Distance,
Presence and lack.

But sometimes, the paper,
Blank,
Sits too long,
Taking on the curve
Of the manual typewriter’s Reel,
The feel not so straight,
So it gets caught
(stuck)
upon return.

The time before,
The moments past,
They pass.

They pass like the changing, fading
Colors of the sun setting.

Sun, dear sun,
Set,
Please settle with
Your quest to the west.

Go to where this turning
Leads you,
Leaving our side of the globe,
As we leave you,
In turn.

Think twice about thinking once.

Once upon a time,
Of the nights of Guinevere,
The Green Lady,
The nocturnal mornings in your heart.

I dream there too.
Alas,
Harpoons for the Whale.

It’s so nice,
It being still light.

For a second,
I wasn’t thinking about work.

We’re born Falling.

You can’t enjoy something
You don’t Respect.

Eating cookies in your mind.

Splashing your Ink around.

So many Dreams pile up
In the corners.

How can I persist?

I want Love.
I want Peace.
But unfortunately,
I live on planet Earth,
Home of the Humans,
And I am human.

“Oh no, not again.” –Hersh

My Clothes are all stitched
On the right hand side.

I don’t have a problem with words,
Just my Pride.
My Pain has a habit of hurting others.

Welcome to the Read.

I plead for you,
For us, for me.
Cause I can’t seem to find
The time, the pace for Grace.

Let’s live,
Why don’t we?

Good night is only a prelude
To the Morning.

I want afternoon.
I want twilight.
Goodness knows,
I’m good enough for the Blues.

Can’t play instruments well enough,
Except for this typewritten Bluff.

God knows, I’m rough.
God knows, I’m here.
And I fear Him,
As I fear everything,
Inside and out.

And maybe that’s all
I’m born for,
Contrary to personal opinion,
The Polls are reading Low.

Let go,
And ready for the next Blank.

It doesn’t seem to matter,
What wedding or funeral I attend,
I’m not good enough,
Enough to be there.

So this is my own gathering,
Here for you Strangers,
Like lunches made at Home,
I take them with me.

And I can only hope for
Moments of Heroics.

To make Meaning,
To make Worth,
I seek me,
I seek me in you,
As I do Temperature’s effect
On the morning dew.

Damn the questions,
And more so the Answers.

What ever happened to
The simplicity of Violence
And Murder and Reverence and Heroics?

Yes, that physical measure of success.

“I’ve been right here for 37 hours.” –Hersh

I will seek the Stories
I can’t see myself.
I will make the Narrative I miss.
I will find the music for this Rhyme.

I may not see it next to you,
By your side,
Dear heart,
Dear family,
But I will Seek.

It appears so many of us
Are spinning uselessly,
Or maybe that’s just the Internet,
Maybe that’s just America.

It is at such times
That the Hurt comes down,
The Challenge,
The way of less Subsistence.

I Believe,
Never think anything else of me.

I’d rather be building
Kingdoms of the Free,
Lands in time for all of us,
Comfortably.

But I will see,
I promise,
As long as I can
Keep my eyes open.

And I know there’s only
So much time on this Cycle,
But gasp and grasp
I will.

I wish,
I love,
I dish, and
Wipe away.