Smell The Roses

(a real ridiculous doozy. handwritten in the hour between rainbows)


Smell The Roses

In the pouring rain
in the Monday morning rush
we talked for an hour in my head
I was that guy
cycling on the sidewalk with an
open umbrella
though I was soaked
to the bone already so
- why dry out in vain?
dignity, it
slows me down I

but I
don't get pleasure from
solving these mysteries
cant dwell on dying or the rain
- prefer endless epiphanies, exiting
every cul-de-sac through secret garden escapes

I left out pieces
on purpose and perforce,
it's what I
always do,
I'm not lazy nor can't not leave untwisted thoughts for you but
I'm giving you credit, the wonder you are
in five years' time when
it finally makes sense I
won't gloat at how you
figured it out but will be
with an uncondescending kiss on the
lips that
was yours all along, and
that - that kiss -
is something I will have
immensely missed.

(it's a whirlpool
flowing in a circle with different levels to skip
a cotton-candy spinning machine
sugar and magnets make it
crystallize so
sweetly on the tongue)

Monday evening and still
the city calm after 24 years of fire,
washed out in downpour, extinguishment
to desire no more, except the
satisfaction of a
clean slate

I'm preparing each day;
some days napping but
some days I'm painting the walls
twenty thousand and twenty-two shades of blue
- just for you

I lost my title along the way
smelling roses, tracking butterflies
stomach fears chasing rabbits down a hole
is this Wonderland?
It's not every day I feel so

sometimes the joy is palpable, bright red with
orange streamers, shuttling through dusk in a
shiny blue Venusian carapace
- indestructible to
frowns and whispers

I can't do this in a vacuum
I'll stick everything in
formaldehyde if I must, if
words can't live free in your heart, I'll
tie em down on paper
like every educated
caveman, hunting my
mammoth in mammoth-cliques with a big drunken stick, oh
to flame once high, twice,
thrice before burning out!

I see no end to the rain, but I
see you're impatient so
don't wait up -
I've got the whole field to enjoy. And
tomorrow the desert blooms, technicolour
kaleidoscope and the smell of morning mist
seducing the
Sahara and
the cracked dead earth weeps
colours as double-rainbows encircle the

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