Ignite

single glowing spark
flickering forked tongue reduced
everything to ash

Is this seat taken?

Today I did a little work in the friendliest bathroom in Savannah. I'd have to know someone pretty good to use this--they don't call them "privates" for nothing.

To, too, two

I followed a car home from work today, about 10 miles worth. The driver had a custom-made bumper sticker that read: TO BLESSED TO BE STRESSED. Obviously the sticker's creator did not consult a grammar/usage handbook before printing the thing out, and I understand that mistakes happen. Stressed the hell out of me, though.

Family Tradition

Three-Word Wednesday, prompt words: stress, juicy, figure.

Family Tradition

At odds again. Head under
pillow he listens, loud words
shouted with spiteful stress.
Through thin walls neighbors
also hear, just a juicy
tidbit to share. Proficient
hands land on his tired
figure. He stifles sobs,
but nothing’s lost—his voice
grows stronger, fists harder,
every day saving up
the lessons learned
with more to follow.

Hush, I'm watching my stories!

For reasons I cannot understand, the wife was telling me about some soap opera she watches. I swear I thought she said there was a "big bust catastrophe," and my mind immediately created a hundred, nay, a thousand different scenarios. Turns out it was a "big bus catastrophe."

Old Friend

Three Word Wednesday, prompt words were blink, kind, and occasion.

Old Friend

I didn’t recognize you.
A shy, drawling “Hey” sparked
a recent memory which face
and figure didn’t match. Staring,
blinking, I tried to place
you, but only the eyes looked
familiar. Deep within their sunken
pools reflections of what you were
still remained. Why did you do it?
What kind of driving need
caused you to pursue such
deceptive self-destruction,
your mind and body blasted
by repeated momentary pleasure?
The will to die I can understand,
but the will to live such
a life, raging for the next
fix, comes from a place
I cannot know. This should have
been one happy occasion, lively talk
about work and kids and hard-earned
success. But like a boy caught
in a lie I could only mumble,
look aside, and wish there
was more I could say.

Audible moon shine

Oct. 13, 1835:

The real beauty of Lemming’s playing (he is a Danish musician; I heard him at the University Club) was that he stroked the guitar. The vibrations became almost visible, just as when the moon shines on the sea the waves become almost audible.

--Kierkegaard’s Journals