Dishwashing Thinking

I'm getting ready to board this foggy staircase
that leads to the hallways poured with colored doors.

My bags are mostly in boxes labeled,"kitchen, fragile, uncertainty, progress and evolution."

The emotions are in transit to a cloudless summer night where I will process
this life-changing moment, greater responsibility with unfathomable commitment.

I'm still sitting here though. I'm taking each day for what it is, a series of sun and stars pegged on a board with opportunity and dishwashing thinking sticky notes. Still trying to formulate a peaceful plan, one that sits well with the rhythm of my stomach, being organ driven.

We have tried to rinse down the spoken fear and anticipation with the juices of fermented grains for far too long. Now I've been scolded for remembering the hiss of the poison that came from your lips before you passed into unconsciousness. You're not accountable for the moments that you don't remember.

I will be very aware in times that draw near to maintain my fierce independence through purposeful movement aligned with thoughts from the woods derived from soil.

It would be easy to feel the power dynamic shift as an anvil strapped to my sternum.
But I breathe out anchors like puffs off a blunt and I still see the part of my picture that I've drawn out. I keep sketching in my mind with pencils,markers,paints and crayons.

Paper cut crunch

This is a double sided hutzpa salad dressing shaking a skank session under halogen bulbs.

There's a logical,yet magical way that we both created this paper cut crunch that splits us through the center of Ohio. I get the side that touches your stomach since I've been faced the other way all of these years.

With all of the embarrassing dangling carrots that have pulled away like credit card you think you have completely paid off, I'm hesitating in taking a bite.

But of course I'm taking everything too seriously.
It is only the flow of life to make choices that challenge
what you once thought was true.
My Calloused hands are not numb yet
but I am conditioning my obsessive trained tracks
to turn and brake in new ways.

There's still a window that I look out of on this speeding bullet.
I see the parallel lines of where I could be. It's a disguise and I know it.
I am not surprised that I am manning up
or sacrificing desire from lascivious lovers.
I have tried to block out the beams of that penetrating gaze
of what could be, like sex on the beach, it's a day dream.