The Great Debate

Polite discrepancy

Independently

Who’s responsibility is it

Who’s responsibility was it

To be honest and clear

Alive and front and center

Taking the stage

As the great pretender

Honor the people

Before the investor

This is not a board game of sorts

Or out of sorts

I watch in horror

Decisions will be made tonight

During the outlandish debate

Hoping someone will seal a certain fate

Tonight

Alright

Let them at it

We can watch the fight

 

 

 

City Burn

Back to the city

City heat in the late summer

Thick humid clouds on top of skyscrapers 

Months since we have been back

The old place welcomes us in

Brooklyn 

Some places have been turned away

Shuttered business closed to open new

Opportunities

Unbelievably fast

Changing hands

In the middle of the night

New faces by noon light

The evolution continues 

We continue

Our friends 

Some stay 

Some move on

In the summer heat

Of New York City

Life

Life has a way of changing

Right when you think it is all figured out

Right when you get comfortable

You get knocked down

Change is truly inevitable

It is in this inevitability that we must anticipate

Await new challenges

New celebrations

New frustrations

It is all in the package when you sign the lease

Lease of life

Temporary

Inpermanent

I see these changes truly only in retrospect

Hard to drive the car when you can only look back

But I adapt

That is the fully human function we all have

Is the ability to change to the future

To see what is required and adapt to it

Sometimes I reminisce the past

I open up to it

But only momentarily

There is nothing to hold on to

To move forward with

I just have this moment

It will never be the same

And I have never been here before

But I will do my best

Life

Predict the Past

Words are moving fast

Faster than I can understand

Competing with the speed of light

Into my head with danger

No understanding needed

People blast out obscenities

With fog horn blasts

Worries about the future

Trying to predict the past

I am not moved quickly with emotion

But in this almost steady flowing river

Into the ocean running

Mud filled water 

Sludge

Filling greater waters

To which I barely understand 

So I await more news

Uncertainty 

Certainly 

It will come

What was new

Will quickly become the past

4 Minutes

In 4 minutes I will attempt

To write words

Strung together with

Some meaning

My eyes are stuck to the screen

Gleaming

Written in an attempt to say

What I have postponed along the way

Returning to ritual

Feels good

Yet not unusual

11:57

11:57 The clock reads

Momentary and sedentary

I return to the road

We travel so often

Yet so unfamiliar

Unusual

The hope of unity

A collection of ideas

Almost perfect

But perfect in its imperfections

It has beauty despite moments

Of Lack of direction

Proceed on our journey

To find people

To share moments and peace

This is my idea to bring

Muddle by Technology

Muddle and confusion

Marry the mellow quiet

With ruptured sounds of a digital empress

Defiant of the status quo

Holding on to the last of what was

What we used to know

The cell phone rings

Elbows locked in admiration

Swing around the border

Of the new order

Tech first feeling second

Defiant I remane

But I wonder what the world would be

With no technology

Would we be more advanced

If we were connected by glance

Instead of digital connection

A tacit code of life

Implied by technical lines

We are breakable and weak

In the eye of technology

Return to the Pages

Return to the pages

Settled in and getting away

Too long

Can get contagious

I don’t write

Due to lack of inspiration

Rather I am not writing

Because it has become

A lack of motivation

Unfamiliar sensation

But it is a coal covered jewel

Untouched as the days continue

First the idea sprouts

From mind to fingers

Scatters across the keys and onto the page

I resurrect the beast  laying dormant

Back to writing and enjoyment

With rest comes ideas

Ideas with time

And now it is time to return

To the pages

To the writing burn

 

 

Rewrite

In hopes of a mad resurrection

My pen falls flat in dejection

More like a renewed redirection

Of my final intention

Words lassoed 

And written

Bringing back the words I had not given

I write with the hopes of a new discovery

To go forth and be free

From subtleties

My life long recovery

To write eternally

Articulate Assembling

Articulate assembling

Summer salad created

Hands willfully picking the pieces

Assembling the creation at hand

Southern Indiana type of man

Years spent on the eastern seaboard

Now looking a bit more windward

Back against the jet stream

And to the midwest

Now creating companies with goals set

A man and his discovery

Looking for hopeful engagements

And full recovery

We sit for dinner

My wife and I

Engaged from side to side

Discussing his next adventure

From the countryside

A home set off in the distance

Off the country roads in existence

We discuss possibilities of new futures

I wish I could have seen this sooner