Anton Lost Jessica

 Jessica why did you leave me for Rusty?
You left in the heat of an argument during a strange night.
You went seeking Rusty in his orange caravan.
Now the house is lonely and the cats are restless.

I take my milk coffee and the steam hits the window. 
Fogging it up so I can finger a love heart onto the glass.
I see the carlights on the highway at the end of the drive.
One passes every five minutes.

Each one I pretend is you coming back to our empty house here.
Jessica how could you do it, you were the most sophisticated than any other.
Now you are kicking around with some local drug dealer Rusty Mcmillan.
The outrage is really just crushing me inside.

Last night there was a hurricane off the florida coast.
It's front came through here and caved the roof in entirely
I found Lisa the cat, but the black runt is nowhere to be seen.
Like you, Jessica it disappeared into danger.

What can i teach you

 I have the white board behind me and I'm writing up on there.
I have listed so many things to guide these students.
The bald old one spoke out and said- What value is there in these words?
I looked at him and said- There is no value here on the board, you give meaning.

I took them out to the field and tried to teach them about what they need.
They put their hands throught he grass and we randomly walked through uneven land.
They wanted to know what we were supposed to achieve.
They looked at me and said that I had it all already.

How am I supposed to get mine each asked.
I pointed to the sun and said, when you need the sunshine, you need to seek it.
When you stay in it too long, you burn. 
If you leave early you don't get the vitamin D.

Position yourself, put in the time and leave before things change for the worst.
The bald one went back to my classroom and in a rage he rubbed out the words on the board.
He articulated his sense of outrage and frustration, he screamed that my anecdotes were meaningless.
He accused me of simplifying the complex by using basic parables.

What can you teach me? -He screamed.
Without faith I can teach you nothing.

Empty Katherine

She has no more expression on her face.
Can she be kind? Can she be smart of course.
We cannot see any evidence of her evolution.
She has lost her man many years ago.

She has a kid who is slowly making it through brat-hood.
Her expressionless face doesn't give anything away.
She is filled with a different kind of yearning.
One unmeasurable in a man's mind.

A silent rage still clings somewhere inside her.
I would say probably inside her spine.
Tolerate my speculation.
She hides her secrets somewhere.

Do they wear away the bone?
Probably not.
But they eat or live on emotional content.
They are anorexic worms.

So inside her there are spaces.
Spaces that will never be filled.
Not physically or spiritually.
But ghosts do hide there among those worms.

Highway of emotional expectation

Notes to self when crossing the city.
getting through to myself.
Seeking connection through the walls of myself.
Each step is a word and the journey is a book.

Inner conflict and frozen dread one clings to their homes.
When a path must be made forward.
Inside our human nature is the capacity to manipulate.
we want to fool and be fooled in certain ways.

Our blood runs hot and then runs cold.
Spoiled by fulfilling all emotional needs.
Religious adherence to routine and performance.
Our convictions often based on empty platitudes.

Enjoyment coming eighty percent from anticipation.
The other twenty percent pretending the outcome matched the prediction.
By the end memories of fine foods, jewelry and sensual confessions.
Dry up on a sunny highway replete with roadkill.

Testing the limits

 He is restless, he just never stops.
Up and down. He'll sit for a minute then he has to move.
He has to cause trouble and sniff and bark.
He is not satisfied to sit and observe.

What kind of creature is this who is more anxious than a human child without its Ritalin.
He jumps up on the elderly on the park bench.
In this country all ages must pretend to like this kind of animal behaviour.
So he puts his paws on them and sniffs them.

They use their baby voices as if addressing a toddler.
He licks and licks them, a level of affection far separated from what should be appropriate.
The animal that has a million more bacteria than I have has the right to embrace anyone.
If I did the same thing I might be beaten or arrested.

So I loosen the cord and pretend to be appalled just wondering how far my dog will go.
And he goes deep. He doesn't just want to sniff the hand He wants to lick every crease of skin.
He wants to nestle into your crotch, everything I taught him not to do in private.
There he is testing everyone's limits in public.

How the path changes

 The brick path on the way to the park, absorbs every part of the year.
The kapok tree flowers accumulate over the ground covering the brick path.
The late summer rains, sun and pedestrian foot steps that squash the flowers.
Those pink and white flowers turn dark orange and brown and get squashed down.

In the humidity they expand, in the dry it all contracts and fragments make their way into dust.
The breeze and wind picking pieces of it up and send it to the corners and gutters.
Filling up the drains and forming a layer of decomposed material underneath.
Weeks later it is all gone, not even a stain remains, as of the flowers never happened.

Not their bloom, not their incredible display and not their imminent fall.
Not their turning, not their decay, not their mould, not their organic remains.
The brick pavers become clean again and the sunbleach and rain maintaining it all.
Ants nests encroach mounds of yellow brown sand emerge.

Autumn tries to hold onto the sun but the cool fronts break through.
The nest is empty, the wind blows them away, and the brick path is once again flat.
It never remains the same, it's litter, it's tone, it's stains.
Like the face of a changing person, how the path can change just like the wanderer.

Pseudo supplements

 The nature of relationships when passion dries is transactional.
The painful struggles to conciliate and rectify the give and get.
Often fighting for our piece of the cake.
Our sense of value from how we recieve.

Everyone on the world seeks something for nothing.
Using cunning, feigning vulnerability.
On their quest they forget the truth of things.
The inconvenient consequences.

Those being outward deception forces you to live in a world of excuses.
Excuses you tell the others so often and with such conviction.
That you start telling yourself those excuses.
Until you are among the group eating our of your hand.

Perhaps with an even bigger appetite than your regular fans.
The adulterated blend you've designed for the outside world,
Is now part of your own personal nutrition.
The sham components don't grow you.