24hoursincolor

It comes in spurts.
It comes from honesty from lacking emotion from staring at the sun too long from letting someone into your heart from closing your heart off to others from opening your eyes and borrowing from others what you cannot get from yourself from writing letters to righting inconsistencies.
But mostly it comes from the heart.


This was left over from the last time I posted but apparently never did, but it still seems appropriate. Having a hard time getting anything down that I actually like but I thought I'd put some things down just for the sake of putting things down with the dates I originally wrote them.( Here we go )

1.
the initial earth shattering was enough
to make any man fear for his life and
seek solace in the fact that
they, too, had sinned           with their
indiscretions a reminder    not that they had strayed
but that their worldly desires made them whole.
and certainly the heavens and clouds were menacing
and disappointed and         absolutely
they were unprepared.
the man in the moon's pleasant facade
cracked alongside their own in
a gesture meant to mean much more than
"i am not your guiding light".
yet traversing the meandering wills of neither
here nor there, plausibly the
reason they strayed in the first place,
was replaced with
the initial earth shattering was enough
to make any man appreciate his life.

2.
circulation stop-watch narrative
paper pages backed by paper pages and
black ink pen marked deep enough to
make the message clear:
this is only permanent.
ensure yourself, this memo won't
be able to reach you until you're ready,
this lesson won't be able to reach you until you
insure yourself against the obvious:
this is not permanent.

the catharsis of a sunbeam as it
shatters across the cracked glass
immeasurably repetitive the
colors melt like sweated distress
out of a desperate rainbow
as the sun said to us
          you can only write about
          the same thing so many times until
    people just
          stop hearing

I found my solace in
    circumstantial evidence.
Stained glass portraits of
    classical artwork reveal a slippery slope
    a backwoods, home-grown, time-told escape route
    back to the whole of me.
I'm being swayed by
    kisses on the forehead and
    the first hand I've held in
    God knows how long.
 Reviving my doubt rejuvinating my interpretation
    of a world view where I see the colors
    through the eyes of someone who
    has never been awake this way before.
Sleepy green eyes, rest until you
    solve the case with cold-hard facts.

your thumb prints collect like
                      rainstorms soot filled
                      windowsills ash blown
             from a foreign land.
       Speak in tongues
       breathe like heartbeats
             that tighten up your chest
       Familiarize yourself with  
       the foundation laid before us.
          lightning powder gun thunder
          escape plan blueprints.



                fly it to the moon.