Lunatic Fringe

All their lives dogs are digging holes, monuments to their vitality, visual reminders of where they’ve been. And still it’s remarkable that we don’t truly see the greatest hole they’ve left us with until after they’ve gone - the one in our hearts.

"Gather sunshine, and let the ills of the world spoil with the first frost of confusion, this is the harvest of the wisdom of old age." Increasingly in the day to day of things I find myself looking upon something that reminds me of a face, or a thing I find familiar from places I cannot go. My heart leaps, just as quickly my thoughts betray me like a soft whisper-- "Once upon a time." And just like that it's once again at my fingers- if the past could be something tangible- and the embraces of those that once loved me envelop me in the indelible hold of something that once was. I posit vehemently here that we are never really alone if we were ever truly loved. And still these bursts - these disquieting storms of emotion, and creation - come to me. Like the steam hisses hot, the twitches remind me: That I am alive, and not forever of this mortal coil. Not a thing at all here is given-- And yet at the same time anything at all is possible. Looking up at these cel

I met an old friend the other day, asked me why I walked slower, explain about talking lower. I opined about a heavy heart, the sort one would drag around, whispered it’s hard to speak up when everything's looking is down. 'Cept I can still fake it, and make it if I gotta. Said I just plain don’t wanna. There’s no room for lies in a room full of sad eyes. See that’s all I see, and the same’s foryou, as you've been lookin’ at me. -- But let me tell you, like I told her – Some sunny day it’ll all come back - a bolt from the blue - a cold shot up my back. She inquired after the hows, and a date as to when it'll be? And I replied honest and slow, lord I don’t know. Just the same she'd be welcome to wait, along side me. -- In the mean time I can still hop to music, and saunter on a sunny day -- it’s all just a matter of keepin’ the beat, and swingin’ away.

Nothing has less in common than all of the girls that have loved me,just like in the right frame of mind, all sunny days are the same. The sensation of some girls is best described as a fog you have to walk out of. It’s a beguiling sort of demise. A perfumed haze, naked, and wicked, and as helpless as it is assured. Ephemeral in her wants, perpetual in her haunts. It passes quickly, washes over you like a tidal wave, and just as violently, she retreats. Defenses are dares. Try to retreat and still you remain a sojourner, breathless like the night, words take form on her lips like clouds blocking out the midday sun, your world becomes as barren as the moon. And always that fog, she hems you in until even her weaknesses she can turn against you. The lighthouse in the storm becomes just another snare, and the wind and the water and the waves join in chorus against you. Her smile is the shore they long to break you upon. It takes years, if you are so bold as to throw yourself to the tempes