Psuedo-memoirs

​I would count cars from the balcony

With my stubby index finger; tap, tap

Childish notions on God and earth

“The suns following us mom”, I say

Only thing that mattered, really

Were the inner workings of imigination 

Before the proverbial “boy meets girl”

And the truth was purely innocent

Wonder and adventure hidden in all

Had us fanning our delight; childs play

Why grow up? Why stay young?

It takes courage to admit 

We want both

With reality’s intercession

​Sunday mornings

Light and sound 

Void
Cocoons of reverie
Pardon the ruse

A man, but a child
With a sudden twitch
Is seen through
A stranger’s Scarlet eyes

The familiar rush
Of blood to the head
Teaches light passages
To those with dead eyes

A “bang” demands notice
Like a servant amongst the sharks
Negatives take sides
Reality tears ensue

Dis_connect

​It’s in the death of silence 

Our loud world wakes the dead

Where once birds chirped 

And frogs croaked

Static and bleeps have settled

Like a much need cope

It’s in the advent of dimly lit faces

Dis(connect) and connect embrace

Why can’t we see? We see but let be

And when it’s too late

Nothing will relate to free-dom