In good company

Solitude owes it's warmth to the fires of our loved ones.

Surrounded by soft, sweet angels swirled in storms of passion raising white waves of tiny hells and opening their souls for someone to touch the hurt and make it go away.

I have been witness to electric loves passing and burning the evil veneer so we can see our Heavens.

Alone I am blessed by the fires of our loved ones.

Make it and love it

Probably no one will ever care as much as yourself about what you create.

If people do care more than you about what you create, they become the bane of your existence.

Nurture and care for what you make, and realize others are doing the same.

Not so much

Our bed is spun ninety degrees clockwise, our heads (when in bed) headed West and now face North. Our heads, that is.

Wardrobes once in closets now hang from the walls in the very same room that holds the rotated resting rectangle. Jackets, skirts, shirts and pants hang on rails from North to South waiting for their chance to be a flag.

A big six-drawer mirrored dresser faces the same way in our rearranged bedroom but continues looking West from the South end of the room. The giant mirror reflects totally different places while greatly similar happenings routinely happen.

Attacking the life sized puzzle put dog steps at the South end of the end of the bed and we've all managed, a bit dizzy at times, but not so much that we vomit.

Mobil frozen transcendence machine

Yellow big box vomiting carnival melody churns down Pershing Avenue with a fat, flat haired lady peering out the side window, ham-sized arms blocking at the sill.

The tone flattens with Doppler duty while they disappear non-stop: nobody has notions of joy in an ice cream sandwich, the jig is up on the mobile frozen transcendence machine.

Until I believe

Middle muscles holding hunched torso and squinting to keep my eyes in my head, short breaths hiss over thick, coffee fused saliva. 

I'm taking all of this way too seriously. Relax and enjoy.

Easy to say, so I'll say it until I believe it.

Distraction

Yodel o-dela-yia-iay, strap on big belt buckles and leather boots and alternate your falsetto with L and vowel sounds.

Yodel as I mail my doctor bills, Lai-eo-ladio, yodel in my ex-wife's face, Lo-delai Le-ola-ai, yodel all over the god damn place.

I can't stay sour while I yodel, Ho-de-Lay, it's the magic bitter to sweet sing-song butter for the soul.

I'm watching you

Deadened by gloves and ear plugs, the rumble of the lawn mower was under-water smooth while I watched her.

She sniffed it first, checking for ripeness or maybe bugs, and positioned it between her teeth.

Gently clamping canines and backing up, the red sphere snapped from the vine, shaking the fence.

Slinging strands of drool she trotted from the scene of the crime, proud and excited and bit down.

She squinted when she squeezed and tomato juice squished across the yard and, starting to chew, I yelled at her.

Beatrice the basset looked at me, startled, but did not stop chewing and I pointed at my eyes and then at her, twice, I think she understood.

The grass looks good, fresh cut, she lays on it digesting autumn fruits.