The end of the corridor

 The emptiness of the gymnasium echoes an invitation.
I follow you to where there are fewer and fewer people.
Wearing the clothes that don't fit.
The clothes whose colors put us off.
All the time we are attempting to make it to the end of the corridor.

We go there seeking a destination, a wooden door with glass panes.
Looking out to a future planned and curated.
Then looking back into the glass.
And seeing the sweeted image pressed to the glass.
Is it lascivious free loose and alluring?

Here I am in the wrong clothes.
Getting the wrong advice.
Trying to improve myself when I've had enough.
The empty gymnasium echoes encouragingly.
Only a few stragglers left in the space short on time.
But still enough to stop by and tell me I'm doing it wrong,
On their way out.

Kirfa of my life

 She is my canela.
Cinnamon flow with who I eloped.
She sits on the edge of me and my hope.

Its a lake near my essence but is it me?
She is my sail for shade and seafaring.
When on wave, when the sun is overbearing.

The tongue longs for white chocolate.
The body for milk caramel sweets.
I can abide life without these.

She is the sweet spice my kirfa and sage.
She has been with me for 13 years.
I hold her closer than my personal baggage.

She eases the distilled trouble of the mind,
irons me out with hot tadka pan.
She is my kirfa, my different kind.

She is the Kite that lifts me higher.
She is the cool stopping me from frying.
She is my wife Maira.

leverage over the universe

 As soon as I get leverage over the universe
As soon as I can prove myself to myself
As soon as I conquer every one of these obstacles
Maybe then I can be something to the world

break through the concrete and steel
As if I myself was the wrecking ball and not the wall
As soon as I make a hole in this sky
A blotch on the blue chip art

Maybe then my words might go deeper
Might reach higher
Than some silly social app thread
trend for a second then go dead

The brickey and the musician

 Oh what a coincidence
two simpletons one a brickey
The other a musician
The brickey just observes

"So you do any work outside of the state"
He looked at me as if the question itself was in another language
he just remained silent and I could see the brickey shifting
The brickey wanted to answer for the musician

On that roadside I felt like an interrogator
As the other two people leaned on their bikes
Does time ever stand still when we overthink
I wasn't making conversation

I really wanted to know if he worked outside of the state
The brickey looked at me like perp would a cop
The musician had no expression on his face
Roundness and flush, he was still digesting lunch

I looked around and Although it wasn't my neighborhood
I knew it was somehow familiar, I tipped my hat
The two continued on to their bar where they would drink
Until they forgot their names

Fraternizing with the winter wood

 I left home in search of the cold the months had promised me
The low scrub were silent, but spoke up as I passed
The low scrub said lie with me
I saw it rustle in the wind and seduce me

One of those hairless humans who worships the night inside of sleep
I approach the woods and enter slowly and softly spready the branches easily
Pushing through into the unknown pretending I'm not afraid
The soft needles of the evergreens to cushion my steps

The ferns curl to my touch and tell me my caress is unique
The spores dust the dusk and I'm smitten

Andy the poet

 Andy the white
white squares black squares
Protection and advice
lonliness and treachery

Hypothetical situations
Love from the past
identity in tact
You designed the wooden box
.......With your sharp carpentry skills
...............It keeps your heart safe but
......................You were supposed to love

Buddha was born again
The mother left, car obsessed
she was lightening on a screen in a bottle
so real so mean

Andy was down to the roach
fumes out nose and ears
getting lost in the timber's grain
The every day routine way

Sunshine used to move him
Pizza and weddings

Golden cat of Stevenage

 Alistair of gold
Cat's whiskers
Regrets permitted
Tears unending

Yellow sofa
Block t.v
Nothing on
Bed unmade everyday

Summer shade
the moustache droops
dappled light
Toppled pride

Alistair are you out there
On the bus line
Full of the rowdy youth
cantakerous retirees

heavy big round steering wheel
When your life has no direction