It’s funny this 
ticking tock clock 
this march this 
run that has
become a stroll
just one more 
eve in tens
of thousands eves
none less nor
much more important 
one more strike 
to end night 
and then it’s 
on to next 
until that is
life becomes ex

Listening to this 
throaty raspy sax
and letting my
coffee cool so 
that I can 
entertain our let’s 
and why nots
and all the 
other little nothings 
that just kinda
cascade casually one
to the other 
like water tumbling 
over smooth stones 

What if
after all 
this time 
what you 
were looking
for isn’t 
there and
that’s been 
the point 
all along 
how now 
brown cow

When exactly were
we taught that
happiness was found 
only in the 
arms of another 
was it when 
our mother coddled 
and poo pooed
away the bad
or was it 
when the first 
girl or guy 
kissed us and 
we felt seen 
but didn’t we
come in alone 
and won’t we
go out similarly 
so why is
the middle expected 
to be different 
oh such treacherous 
little lies told 
and such happiness 
had been delayed 
in the pursuit 
of some myth

I wonder if 
the dust cloud 
I’ve been running 
from and so
desperately trying to 
avoid and dodge 
isn’t one of 
my own making 
and rather than 
trying to catch 
up with me 
is really trying 
to get away
and simply disappear 
sometimes we try
so very hard 
to get away 
from things that 
aren’t really there