Doris/Jean/Grandma Please

Caffeine.  Check.  Nicotine.  Check.  Walking aimlessly 2am.  Telephone pole.  Sidewalk.  Flower print shirt and beige tattered jacket.  Sandy grey hair with wrinkled pug face provide me with a glimpse into love.  Provide me with a look into the past.

Can you hear them in the back?  Laughter amidst the dark decay of hibernating humans.  The rhythm of the road lulls to them a deepening slumber found only during the most busy of sandman's rides.

Can you hear them in the back?  Whispering suddenly after a quick joke or witty 3am quirky comment meant to keep awake the conversation.  The conversation which keeps them awake amidst the space travel dreamers.

We have no drugs But our own memories as the numbing depressants used to make us forget.  But for that split second we must remember.  Memory serves as a banquet for those nights we can not sleep and fear lest we ever sleep again.  We fear losing the warmth of arms pressed tight and holding in our soul.  Never let go.

Pull.  Tug.  Fall. My bag is my world.  I have forgot all else nix my mind will not be lost if my material possessions prove the high I need.  Take me, but not my bag.  Take my love, but not the valentine.  Take my journeys, my travels, my thoughtless wandering, whilst trying to pry the bus ticket from my cold, lifeless, clamped blue fingers.


The Sun Sometimes

Bubba don't leave me.  You don't have to apologize.  I can see it in your eyes  Never there white dark orbs of mystery.  Pools of past conjectures used on other innocents of which I am many.  Blank and mirrored you see behind yourself and wonder how you always saw the future.  Epileptic shag surrounds and penetrates your karma letting delicious rain smelt euphoria linger.

Feel me.  We scream chaos into your eyes.  Yet you yearn to touch.  Try a snag.  The hurt can last for days.  The scars for months.  A lifetime of self-mutilation all for the benefit of the masses.

Your sweet eyelids betray your gender.  Must I cry for pride or laugh for the norm.  Run from your name-sake, your honor, dignity and stature reduced and degraded into shelves of complex paths coming and going now here at the speed of unleaded.

Steady unblinking.  Must you mock the expansion of amateurs into a less suitable forum of UBC wastelands.  Aprons, as American as trench coat alley bent blinking DON'T WALK like a beacon of premonition?  Are your children asleep in the glove compartment or must they crawl into the trunk for the warmth of a tailpipe license plate as you speed.

Mock me no more.  Your color may match my own.  Yet your purpose forebodes you mine enemy.