curious

i am drawn tonight to write
yet i have nothing to say
no insights, no stories, nothing
of any significance
and why the words
come in verse
i do not know

i should be in bed
i should be grading papers
i should be making a difference somehow

i am doing nothing
but throwing words onto the screen
and hoping they don't slide off into
the abyss

it's easier for me to get closer to heaven
than ever feel whole again

why mr. smith is in my head
remains a mystery
but there he is and has been and probably will be

i hesitate to post
knowing the words aren't elegant
aren't meaningful
aren't much
but they'll stay
a snapshot of my brain
faded and out of focus
but full of odd colors

i rub the stone in my pocket
and whisper the name inscribed
in deep blue sharpie
and pray all is well and love and light and life
refract in her eyes

unconnected...
my body has been sensing the lack
more than my heart
seeking contact
trying to merge
tired of being only flesh
needing more
and more and more and more and

this is not art
this is not eloquent
this is simply
me
tonight
this moment
for whatever it's worth

i pray the week slides swiftly by
reducing the days to a single handful

the elements will be dissolved with fire
haunts me and cries for words of my own
another night perhaps

let sleep come
let words stop
let peace rule
let love
let go
stop
Æ