For my last.

I would swim in a warm tropical ocean
while the dangerous fish were away.
My eyes open under water
the curious observing the curious.
The sun would warm my skin and I would
never become fatigued.
When the time came I would float on my back to shore
I would then devour a corned beef sandwich and potato chips.
All this after an exciting hot-air balloon ride
unaffected by vertigo. Where I even dangled my feet off the edge
in the late summer air.

The best summer, or when people stepped out onto the scene.

It was like I had been indoors too long
at the bottom of a well.
The Sun choked me, hit me in the chest
and on occasion, warmed me from the inside
Days of excruciating beauty were segmented with
random bouts of panic
Ending with a silent scream in the corner
of a shady room.
The leaves then, did start to fall.
And I witnessed the world from a balloon
sometimes from space
I told her I was flags blowing around in the wind
and that she was a flame thrower
She would burn me up, given half a chance.
I was sick, but not terminal
and I saw everything in color starting
then, in the summer.

Two months ago.

A phenomenon of lighted colors- green and gold
your face in the hallway, the surrounding atmosphere
was black, Darkened by you
so that your face would be the only sight.
It worked so well, I want to tell you.

cataract

grappling with the fog,
streching across the soil, dark and aromatic
hands grab various old roots, touching them for reference
and then passing them over-
they'll always be there, right?
knees slightly padded, ego scathed.
searching, selfish, and climbing with the only means
available, and that is sight.
so tall, and white, and clear.
get up and go, run for your life,
if you can.

100807

Tiny beast, hair on my arms, and on my clothes
I saw the ribs prominent under thin skin
rise so slowly up and then down,
once, twice, and never again.

I didn't exactly see you struggle to hang on
as it might have cost me extra to woolgather
about your miraculous second wind.
no, no. she's gone, and it just makes sense.

end of occasion

Pressed against the glass, facing the fall-
if it breaks I know about the automatic parachute...
whether or not I would want to use it is another matter.

Enduring the falling off and
meandering words of them, everyday for all time
I have been known to sneak out the back door.
Skulking around in black,
and with some understanding others,
I realize I have been passively missing
the world for days if not only hours.

this happened two weeks ago

zombie G

km at the music box