Frustrated

"No time to stare at you right now."
No space for eyes, no room to look.
Cannot glance up.
Eyes drag themselves across the book...

I saw that somewhere else before.
That movement, creeping on the line.
Stumble and
backstep.
Ir-
rhythmic heart beat'
s anesthetic sign...

Remembered. Ant that crossed the rug.
Frustration, male and angry haste.
Crushed but not killed.
I watched it crawl across the carpet's waste...

Frustration is a bumpy word
To crawl across, at best of times.
I stopped its agony unheard.
Cream polyester.
Black punctation dot to end the lines.

....another old one...

Frailty

The pages of my life lie all around,
In random heapings blown about the floor.
The storm is still. The memories on the ground
Are blurred from beating rain and wind that tore.

I pick them up and try to smooth each page,
And falling tears make dimples like the rain.
Why do I cry? I feel no pain, no rage.
Right now I'm happier than I have been.

High in the storm's eye, peace caresses me.
The fall will come. Of that I do not think,
Lest I should walk with Peter on the sea,
And look upon my frailty, and sink.

Daydream Fanjeaux

What can I give you, O my heart's desire?
What can I give, my lover still unknown?
Today I have nothing but my arms that tire
Waiting forever till the time has flown.
But when you've come, I'll take you by the hand,
A lad and his lass, and she sees only him,
And show you the place I loved for you tonight
In Provencal sunset, while the shadows dimmed.

Slam poet.
Sentences like mile markers in the era.
Pass the murky darkness of modern romance.
Look, actual real words.
Hear the cry to the crowds in the dark ahead.
These are words.
Coherent, magnetic,
Like highway lines into the dark,
Powerful.
One after another.
And you focus, and they pass,
And they draw you to the next,
And the next.
Cruise control in the silent night,
And you watch the lines pass
Through the sleeping world.
Are you the only one awake?
And the next.
Slam poet.
Past the exit.
5 miles over the speed limit and counting.

rewritten from a poem I found from years ago....was the original idea ever any good? don't know...

My heart is broken, and it will not heal
Last night, until I fell asleep, I cried
I cannot put a name to what I feel
Much too confused for phrases cut and dried
My dream...so overused...came true last night
But as I reached with wonder in my hands
To touch it, it was rudely....so cliche...
And boldly snatched away, and now I stand....
Oh, please don't laugh. Before you call this trite--
You were the dream that broke my heart last night.

Thoughts condensed like embers,
Amber-molten in the palm.
Was is all a dream? she said.
How much can I keep?

Thinks that she remembers.
Shuts hers eyes, stays very calm.
Puts her hands against her head.
Banks the embers deep.

Empty angry words
and doors slammed silently
and then cold and alone and mad.

Where are the words?
What is the argument?
Futile, like tire studs on a summer road.
That gritting gnawing sound,
Purposeless,
Holding on for dear life
When life is no longer dear.
Tearing up by bits that which they hold so close.
The thin line between need and not
So quickly crossed.
The thin line between security and destruction.
A thin line of sound.
Listen for it.