An object at rest.

What keeps us moving?

Really though, what keeps us moving?

What keeps us moving? What keeps us moving? I just keep asking. I need to know? What keeps us moving? So I just keep typing? I’ll keep typing because I have to. Because I’m afraid if I stop the idea will disappear. The idea is disappearing. Going. Going. Going. Stop. Stop. Turn, take, explode. IN MY MIND. IN MY MIND. Explode in my mind. NOW. Stop. This ephemeral shadow. Stop. The dissolve. Stop. Explode in my mind in my mind. These pieces these fragments of an idea are so much more attainable. I need it bite size. Give it to me bite size. One at a time. One at a time. I can take it now I can take it now. One, now the next and now I begin to see what you were. What you meant. And that damn explosion propelled me forward. Forward. To what. To MOVE.

Motion is not enough. MOTION WITH OUT MEANING IS IMPULSE IS A COVER UP A MASK, A MOTION TO LIE. So lie. I lie. I will lie.

Because I KEEP MOVING.

That first law will break me. It will break me. This rest will remain if I don’t explode into motion. So I need to move. I have to move to keep going forward forward. I refuse to look back, to go back, to walk back. I am of the present and in tomorrow

thoughts for a dead friend

“hello, how are you?
this fear of being
what they are… dead”

Bukowski, I love you
but oh how I would
have hated you
So bitter, so cynical, so resigned
everything I fear in myself
Did you fear happiness Charlie?
so hungry, and yet so scared…

Did you figure it out Charlie?
did you get your fill,
of women
of rage
of passion.
were you addicted to feeling
so much that you didn’t care
if it was pain or pleasure
or do you know the difference?


“All we need to continue alone
Are the dead:
Rattling the walls that close us in”

But Charlie I’d rather keep
better company than you.
You my darker side,
You my guilty laugh
A fearful threat
To what is good in me
To what is left of hope in me

Is that it Charlie?
Your dead entourage in tow,
did you forget to be
For fear of becoming?

I would like to take a train...

Travel
-Edna St Vincent Millay

The railroad track is miles away
And the day is loud with voices speaking
Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking

All night there isn’t a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming
But I see its cinders red on the sky
And hear its engine steaming

My heart is warm with the friends I make,
And better friends I’ll not be knowing;
Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,
No matter where it’s going