Yeah, it's Saturday.
The last day of the week.
A day to sit back and relax.
Just to enjoy one of my many interest.

Hey, I might take in a cartoon.
Or go back to bed and snooze until noon.
But I'm up.
And I'm off.
To enjoy this last weekend day.

When you think about it.
We try to accomplish more than we should on Saturday.
I guess many of folks like it that way.
Oh, the many folks that seems to call.
And most wants nothing at all.

Except, it's Saturday.
What can we say?
Besides, it's a day to be known.
Still, we might pretend we're not home.

I remember the moment
Your eyes met mine in a dream
Those tiny maps
Of unwinding colour
Where I'd lose myself for days

Emerging,
Sure I knew you so deeply
That your soul
Was palpable in my hands
And your thoughts
Were unspoken words on my tongue.

I'd find myself staring
Up
At the stars,
Hear them whispering
Your name
Like a melody too beautiful
For anyone else to hear.

The sound of the roaring ocean
Was the only comfort
I could seek
Without your voice
To charm me with
Empty words of promise,
Desire,
Longing

The crashing waves called
To me,
Enticing.
I could only think of plunging
Deep
Into the blue void
And never returning
Like a doomed explorer
Willing to lose it all
For some unknown beauty

And as the breath
Escaped from my lungs
And the world
From my eyes,
The last thing I'd picture
As the comforting blue
Took hold of me
Would be your eyes,
Bluer than the bliss
Which engulfed me.

Today I stared at The Scream
And am proud to say,
I understand what it means.
Seconds,
Days,
Minutes,
Nights.
The Scream represents
Immortal life.

And who really wants to live
To be one hundred years old?
To see the world they know,
slowly go?

I've seen Death,
on multiple occasions...
He tells me it's okay
To feel this sort of pain.
Deep down it burns,
but it cools my skin.
Your words...
Unable to keep me in.

And who really wants to live
To be one hundred years old?
When there's nothing to do,
but grow cold?

Gently pour your tears on my eyes.
The feeling is great.
It reminds me of the sky,
Like your hair reminded me
of being naive.
These feelings are mine,
As you stab me in my side.

And who really wants to live
To be one hundred years old?
Memories still in mind;
What torment for every burning soul.

They have spent their
content of simpering,
holding their lips this
and that way, winding
the lines between
their brows. Old folks
allow their bellies to jiggle like slow
tamborines.
The hollers
rise up and spill
over any way they want.
When old folks laugh, they free the world.
They turn slowly, slyly knowing
the best and the worst
of remembering.
Saliva glistens in
the corners of their mouths,
their heads wobble
on brittle necks, but
their laps
are filled with memories.
When old folks laugh, they consider the promise
of dear painless death, and generously
forgive life for happening
to them.

my angel in red
Let's sing along
to songs only we know
I'll kiss your scars
we can smoke and read Thoreau
until we've forgotten time
and slipped under the moon's glow
my angel in red
you can stop the show
now we're alone
you were a missing thread
in my story
read and reread
trying to comprehend
what I was missing
my angel in red
welcome home