I was walking behind

two high school girls yesterday

who were discussing TikTok

(which by the way

spellcheck

doesn't recognize yet)

and I felt old as ____

listening to my iPod

blanking out

passing the baton

to however many seconds

leave us feeling good about ourselves

I've hit rock bottom

more times

than there are

Seinfeld episodes

during quarantine

I had only

eggs and champagne

in my fridge

I looked at myself

in the mirror

and cut my hair

with kitchen scissors

and after all that

maybe we're only as good

as when

we can come up again

I can tell you what I’ve been through

What I go through

How I feel about it

I can describe the color and shape of every bush

The way the wind blows

How the sun feels on my skin

What the sound of waves provokes in me

What the desert tells me when no one else is listening

I can tell you all about the things I share with no one

I could offer you these pieces of sand about me and the simplicity beyond the complexity behind me

I can tell you how much I smoke

How little I drink

Who I read and why

I can tell you about my family, the role I play, the disappointments and achievements

I can tell you all of my predicaments

I can tell you about my REM dreams and my visions

I could give you multiple daily updates and stories

Write a novel or series of all the things that have happened to me

Things I’ve caused to happen unintentionally and exactly every time I got my way and how

I could give you names, dates, prices, and costs

I could tell you about everything except the things I can’t remember

And the most interesting part is that the truth about what it’s like to be me is hidden in those forgotten moments

Moments I surrendered to time as quickly as I could

While I grasp only the most pleasant things because I so desperately want those moments to have more significance.

If these humans could see,

It was the flea!

You ride on the coattails of the folly-

into trash bins and poverty,

where all amassed and lost, is yours alone.

I feel confusion, such a torrent in my soul.

A sadness at the end of my day, that creeps like dark ooze seeping from my skin.

A voice in my head that keeps saying.

It's time to go home.

But what do I have to go home to.

Everything has changed.

The home I once knew is no longer there.

The places and things that once held magic,

are now nothing but a useless crutch.

In my dreams I see the fields and forests I once walked Through.

In Summer green and gold.

The dream is hollow and empty.

The fields have turned to winters grey.

The forest has lost its green.

A voice in my head that keeps saying.

It's time to go home.

A sadness at the end of my day, that creeps like dark ooze seeping from my skin.

Such a torrent in my soul.

D.Casabonne ( C ) 11.17.2021 All Rights Reserved

big enough to hold the leash now,

she asks, “is that one apartments?” so

I explain counting mailboxes,

and that one’s a single family – you always

like their Halloween candy - but count this

one, four boxes affixed to the green

Victorian, two Direct TV dishes;

they built big back then, and

many in town were broken up

“like our neighbors” she says, “but not ours,”

and I say yes, like our neighbors,

like Miss Jeanne who gardens and

lets you pick peppers, or

Mrs. Johnson walking Bernie the

Dachshund, or Tom who repaired that

old red truck and moved when

his brother’s health failed;

I do not bring up the apartments across

the street where flashing red and blue

came for the stabbing and dealing last summer,

but she’s focused on our dog now anyway

because we’ve come to the porch where

that old woman smokes and keeps a sleeping

bag for her son, and she always steps down

to rub our beagle’s belly and floppy ears

I wish I could say I go on here enough to speak with more knowledge of the writers, but I'm too damn busy chasing tails down disappearing cor

ridors trying to make some money in this damn technological era. But the ones who spark my curiousity are the atheists. Harry Situation is one, I know, because I entered one of his challenges. My apologies to the rest of you whose names I can't bring to mind at the moment. So I enjoy perusing the atheists conversations, they feel intellectually stimulating, and I enjoy a bit of what is unfamiliar to me, and I wish to probe their minds a bit. I also enjoy unpopular and dissenting points of view, as long as they are true to the heart, I love a good debate, and I enjoy being Proven wrong or put in my place; it means I have learned something.

I filled

a

cart

with all the things

I want to buy you

for your birthday

knowing I’ll never

click

purchase

or call you

at

9:37

to honor your mother’s memory

again

this year

I’ll light a candle

for your

number

blocked

so I don’t have to

hear

your

voice

or know

how

your

child

bride

bids

our

child

to oblige

this

happy

birthday

song

my therapist

says

I’m window shopping

for the fantasy

where I can

almost

have

it

all

where I somehow keep my

head

in the matter

while I watch you

have your

cake

and eat it

too

And I love you...

All seasons long,

turbulent

currents

of a waterfall.

A steady rock,

laminar

flow

of molten rods.

I pull away

your strings.

Let them

summer

to my warm

kiss.

I spring

into

your ore.

Till

we pure

winter

of its

frost.

We caw

to the rising

fall,

yours is

sweeter

and soft.

ooooooooooooorrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeee! Huh!