intra-

we have lost touch with what matters,
opting instead for the cheap thrills,
instant gratification at entertainment's mercy,
constantly seeking the next digital narcotic.

life has transformed from a survival game,
to one where we battle against boredom,
seeking to fill every second of our lives
with a dizzying array of stupefying stimuli.

so few now practice introspective thought,
that which provides self awareness and humility.
meditation, even at its most basic, is withering,
and with it our sense of global unity.

how can we understand the world,
when we barely understand ourselves?
how can we begin to talk to others,
when we've yet to talk to ourselves?

i-85

my memories play in slow motion,
when i think of our time together,
small details become vivid,
a strand of hair on her face; her laugh.

driving my old pickup down the interstate,
her bare feet on my dash,
burnt orange of the sunset at our backs,
wind filtering through cracked windows.

george strait saying for us,
what we couldn't say to each other.
we were the picturesque young couple,
fumbling in ignorance, yet innocence.

for there is something to be said
of the process by which we each learn to love.
some only have to go through it once,
while others, like me, must endure loss.

night walker

walking late at night
through my complex,
i make stories for people
based on the lights i see.

for i surely won't peek
in their window;
my gazing -- nay guesswork --
is done from a safe distance.

a living room light on
at 11 p.m.? mom or dad
works late; the kids
were kept up for dinner.

flashing cool, blueish lights
radiating from behind blinds?
a single someone, to be sure,
waiting to be taken... by sleep.

dim lights flickering from
the whirr of an overhead fan?
surely it's two lovers, wrapped
in each others arms, safe, secure.

when i get home i ritually turn on
the tiny lamp on my nightstand,
just enough by which to read,
and wonder what another thinks of me.

frenchmen street

cacophony of sax and trumpet
waft through the air
like a wonderful smell,
but pleasant to the ears.

steady hum of life,
a slight buzzing, vibrations
that reach inside you,
like an oscillating soul.

involuntary tap of the feet,
wagging of the hand
to the beat of the music,
the succinct syncopation.

i stop where i am and look;
i see inebriation, but also
a kind of willful bliss,
for which ignorance is not to blame. 

indeed, some people come here
and can simply 'get' it.
while i'm all for new experiences,
i'm not sure yet if i'm one of them.