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Vagrancy

vagrancy

 

Copyright © 2016 by

 

David Wesley Anderson (@dwesleya)

 

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

dedication

 

To those transient feelings and moments.

 

May they show you your true self.

poems

 

circle birdie

again

another smile

phase

ki

what is this

passing by

my blue eyes

in vines

a vacant space

a third

i’m afraid

gliding

circle birdie

 

oh

accomplishments

where are they

during the day

when i sway,

in the wind with the hips

of the one

i see

 

she tells me

i’m cold

and we sit quietly

sometimes

pondering,

one another’s

reality

are we

really together?

 

nature is a fluid

organism

without a to do

a check off

box list

or red marker,

just grey

never ending

forward thinking

 

relationships don’t end

only time carries them

away slowly,

and they start

as unnoticeably

with a flash of sight

and choice

one day

again

 

i am quietly

breathless

not waiting

but serene,

unsuspecting

like a brush

beckoning

hands to touch,

to wander

on a canvas

 

again

 

i am silently

pondering

not wanting

but lucid,

unrequited

like a calm lake

relating,

looking at a face

to catch

in reflection

another smile

 

when your mind is sparse

do you still wonder about the girl

that let’s you sleep at night?

that holds your hand and says

you’ll be alright?

 

do you wonder about the past

and what could have been?

when she says

hey how do you feel

about me, about right now?

 

are there any worries at all

when you see her smile

another sunrise, and yawn

a delicate squeeze?

phase

 

i’m in the light of a cold blue haze

and as i age clearer, it becomes

even though the color shifts

like a mood in a day yet,

the sun still dawns

ki

 

there is something instinctive

when i leave my hand

on her stomach

when i fall

asleep,

after all

the pieces

of the puzzle

finally fit together,

and each of my

fingers five

stories all

telling

me when

i dream, that

maybe it’s

time to

take

another

step into the

future that

i create

what is this

 

i’ve been silent

still at the keyboard

my hands poised

ready but

i’m stunned,

i cannot translate

there are no words

mere electrical impulses

representing a blurious grey,

of emotive explosion

locked inside my head

 

i feel it though

at the tips of my fingers

my veins reaching upwards,

blood crashing to reflex

the cortisol stress pump

beating in my chest,

ka-thump ka-thump

ka-thump ka-thump

 

i’m frozen as i close

my eyes wanting to help

but i cannot even help

myself, my

facade collapses

streaming consciousness

around your hands

 

i apologize for my humanity

my broken senses

unable to respond,

there is no hunger

or pain but silence

if only

our blood ran

together,

would nothing else

matter

passing by

 

close off the past fast

before the concrete

emotion sets, and stuck

you’ll be crying asleep

again—again

 

face forward head eyes

straight as an arrow flies,

forward momentum

movement press upon

the light of the day

 

quickly work sleep

eat work sleep eat

weeks head jump

forecast foreshadow

the rest of your life

 

if only to slide by

the next blade

that aims for your

wrist

my blue eyes

 

i wish i could rest

upon your shoulder

swaying in the wind

on a swing maybe,

by the last willow tree

where your freckles

smiled and lips poked

at my nose

 

where i could undo

the wrongdoings

of everything any

thing i’ve ever said

to you

 

i’m sorry has no meaning

when you’ve used it

a billion times,

even a letter carefully

written

can sometimes no longer

heal the past

in vines

 

i wish we would intwine

like vines competing

for the same warm rock

overlooking a lake

somewhere

 

coils over time

inexplicably connected

yet separate

coaxing one another

through another loop

another roundabout

game of life

 

bending in jest but

it determines our fate,

maybe there is enough sun

for us to share after all

a vacant space

 

i believe he was thirty

though a number does naught

to summarize a man

and his life, nor

his potential to illuminate

and to connect

with the multitudes

in his future

 

i believe he took too many

drugs—his intention unknown

unless it was obvious now,

i feel at fault

for i was his cousin

not by blood

but by our humanity,

peers and friends

 

i believe he left behind

his daughter wide eyed

not fully understanding

what

exactly

just happened,

nor what she will be

missing in the years to come

a third

 

they were at his wake too

 

he said hello and left

condolences with relatives

shook hands

with broken hearts,

in a black

monogrammed shirt his

that i wore

 

she also said hello

left hugs and presses

cheek to cheek

remembrances of past

smiles family,

years of lives her

car that i drove

 

they would have said

he was so young

it’s terrible

he had so much

to live for,

he was always smiling

what happened?

 

i don’t know but

we were born three months

apart, i wish i could have done more

i’m afraid

 

sometimes i stay up late

hoping to delay

the inevitable

just one more minute,

not wanting to face

my own mortality

 

it’s absolutely frightening

i’ve never once

feared until the loneliness

of divorce, married

silence and worry

each ticking pains me

 

holding her hand now

isn’t enough as i hide

my face as close as i can,

trying to elude that

which eludes no one

somehow i must…

gliding

 

a whisper like a leaf

whistles through the air

humming for you to follow,

it circles in turbulence

laughing as if at recess,

wondrously light and smiling

giggling with clouds

simply child like,

in adagio along the sky

 

and softly we watch

for what goes up

twinkling in creases

gliding swiftly as a tear,

dropping once again

holding a breath here or

there, we’ve seen its peak

knowing what must come

rocking back and forth,

as it is pressed assured

into the rest of the world

once again


Vagrancy

Wonder in observation. Do you watch leaves falling and marvel? Do they feel vulnerable when they finally leave the tree? How is it that we can trust another falling from our own heights and decisions? Limbo they call it, before heaven or hell, a state of impermanence—or a non-state of reality. Not death, but a loss of now. Transparent. It passes through each of us at some point. We must watch softly in retreat as it turns us partially before finally leaving us incomplete.

  • ISBN: 9781370263202
  • Author: David Wesley Anderson
  • Published: 2016-08-18 04:35:10
  • Words: 1032
Vagrancy Vagrancy