It’s this pace
if pace this 
strolling even is
never to go 
ever to mind 
just a drip
drip drip down 
one way back
another stopping and 
stooping to see
a glimpse of 
some glimmering glint 
of sea glass 
and then I
go continuing on 
with no further 
care than cottonwood 
and cottontail parachutes 

The skies here 
are just blah
not even cute 
like a child’s 
try at painting 
more like a 
talentless wannabe abstract 
you know blah 
but a sky 
it is nonetheless 
filled with boredom 
and anxious sighs 
and a kind 
of sadness that 
only rain can 
ever make laugh

What used to 
really doesn’t anymore 
not because I 
but because it
doesn’t anymore too
have its grip 
not that I 
but that it
doesn’t have teeth 

There comes
a point 
in every 
wash cloths 
life when 
it becomes 
a rag
it’s then
that its 
purpose turns 
from beauty 
to spill
to waste 

The day like 
the duvet cover 
that you lift
slowly as to
not disturb me 
does to night 
ever so slowly 
slipping quietly in 
but like the 
dark we know 
that sunshine has 
just joined us 
adding its warmth