SIDEWAYS EIGHT PROJECTS

TY ends a lot of things
like the specialty you long for
and the sense of finality it brings.
It’s the loyalty you wish to give and get,
the royalty you wish you could be.
The faulty frailty which lives and lets
you see with what the acuity always should be. TY may end a texting chain by giving thanks from sender to sent, TY might be someone’s name, either initials or a contraction of the first. It begins the sound when you’ve run off being wired, now simply just tired and spent, having given up on living the game, and focusing on the worst. TY can be a question about an ancient bev we still drink which gives us leverage to think of any number of abstract points. To you. Tenth year. When what anoints you is clear. Anything can be a writing prompt when we release without fear.

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We have appointments we keep, and ones that we let creep past
us while we sleep. Those appointments are then given to others who are ready and dilligently waiting, anticipating being bleeping great.

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I was coming up from the basement in Denver, trying to visit the DMV that day. The television was on, as it often was, and Meg was standing with her back to the top of the stairs. There was a hesitant stillness in the air. “Some idiot just flew a plane into the World Trade center!” I stepped forward, stood beside her, and then was beside myself, as we both watched live, while the second plane hit.
There we were. Nothing to say. Disbelief. Etched in permanent memory. Broken. Flames. People. Falling. Death. Can’t catch my breath quite yet as I think of it again. I do not need to be told to always remember. I cannot forget that morning and the days to come. My 1973 Chevy Blazer ‘Annabel’ got registered that very day, shortly before all government buildings were closed. I wanted to drive through LODO with my inherited flag waving from the rollbar. I wanted to beat my fists in the air. I wanted to enlist. I wanted to understand. I was not yet a praying man, but I believe I came up with some sort of version that day. I realized that I would not understand. I realized that there were many far younger than I was, being raised in worse conditions. There were so many who lost so much more than I did that day. So much unbearable loss around the globe being perpetuated. All these years later, I still remember as vividly, but choose to love more deeply than before.

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I see a certain image of you,
and it’s the one you want me to see,
But only an image will not do,
and by me, not me, but everybody.
For we didn’t invent the lang,
we just learn to arrange it like so,
formal, familial, and street slang,
all dressed up with nowhere to go.

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They were fleeing the earth in droves

having cashed in on the dreams

they were sold on,

being left with only

a lonely feeling in the pit,

and a handful of pennies.

They longed to have fervent groves,

a one in which kindness teams

with love to help us hold on,

enough patience to loan me

a rough version of grit

in the land of the brave and the plenty.

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#photography #instapics #photographersofig #pictures #artistic #creative #creation #writersofig #writerswrite #writersofinstagram #writinglife #wordgasm #words #selfpublishing #sidewayseightprojects

#poet #poets #poem #poems #poetry #poetsofinstagram #poetsofig #poetrycommunity #poetryisnotdead #poemsofinstagram #dailypoems #micropoems #poetrydaily #poetry_addicts #poemsporn