MonuMental

I slide a pen against the pages ‘til abilities are honed

beyond the blades of razors paper cuts can touch the bone

angel dust is never shown because of heaven’s housekeeping

so I don’t know what they’re smoking since the name is misleading but

whatever imaginary hand touches creativity

I’m thankful for the fingerprints that land in my vicinity

I do know for a fact that the bats in the belfries

are thankful every time I go to write because it helps me

come to healthy inspiration, looking out the window

with the hazel-painted glass stained the day they built this temple

if the pencil tips beyond an angle parallel to therapy the scribbling breaks the glass and grains are cast upon the balcony

when angels pass in front of me the shutter speed changes the double takes are just a way to conversate amazement

if I could make this poetry as beautiful as some of you, I’d write until the world is beyond a paper shortage

tips would be eroded to needlepoint precision givin’ blackened gel injections of WallyJac’s enjoyment

I’d hang my inspiration over the door so if you enter let my soul embrace you focus let the present moment kiss you

your interest is formally more than a reward for me wipe your reservations on the welcome mat of dormancy

as far as I’m concerned the spoken work is (border) sorcery a forum where the gods are born performing art accordingly

casting spells making sure the letters are in order WallyJac the foreign soldier, thermos full of orange soda

bonded to the homestead, anomaly to family, finding liberation in the sock the master handed me

time’s the imitation witness ordering the images vacantly expressing limitations with our ignorance

& when it gets late I lay some life into the mirror

a time-stamped capsule of any given second

any pen that hits the record reflects a moment that had molded me

the past becomes nearer, paragraphs grow in potency

pieces of me live in every word ever written

color pours immortal over tapestries of language

the captioning is ageless,

evading timetables

weightless

as the fantasies fighting for control of me

the pen eventually runs dry with fluid ounces absent the cursive bends have ended when the riverbed’s a casket

bask in life’s potential energy, mobilized by purpose expression is the universal method to convert it

I’m a power surge that’s evidence of human supernovas, blood flowin through my veins at the speed of light I’m radiant

The mind remains so advanced it’s a waste of time explaining it

My thoughts are food to higher gods, breath is what they pay me with

Angels sit and dangle fishing lines of inspiration

Briared vines of mind invasion move adjacent to the stream of conscious waters flowing gracious on accomplished author’s brains &

all this plays a role in what I’m writing on the pages

The strokes will never soften though I’m out of space for writing

I’ve siphoned each remaining piece of creative speech for rhyming

Sliding pens against the pages northeast to southwest without questioning how many sheets are left to spread a melody

the last page is one thing but writer’s block would be the death of me

my destiny is painted pixilated over angel wings so when they fly together you can see where life is taking me

I’m thankful for the vacancies that challenge my expansion

The gaps within my spirit that illuminate reflection

The passion keeps me documenting any living instant

I draft a paragraph connecting pleasure with commitment

potent to the bone yet poetic to the fiber I’m a writer for the point of never losing what has made me

embracing what defines me ever-changing understanding captivated daily

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She makes dreams out of the day and puts hope into tomorrow

eliminates my sorrow

makes crumbs for me to follow

Doesn’t borrow, won’t abuse and loves the views of Old Dominion

starlight in her fingertips

there’s heaven in her vision

Twice as nice as what I wanted, more than I’ve afforded

undetected, unrecorded how she walks into my morning

Stepped in through my door amazed, adorned in her infectious ways,

her gaze remains incurable, in other words adorable

She holds the moonlight in her eyes and carries sunlight in her pocket

(I’ve) seen our fates in deeper space but keep her face within a locket

She’s the topic of discussion, causes rapid heart percussion,

she’s the button on my elevator taking me to rooftops

my path along the river stepping over roots and loose rocks

to balance on the tracks and leave a quarter for the crushing

She’s a fire in the works, my desire for the future

any injuries – the suture,     my attire if it suits her,

She’s my hot exotic counterpart, the mile to my kilometer

the glass of milk I’m dying for, I’m drinking every drop of her

She’s popular, a lot to love, my drug and my addictive vice

my afternoon delight, my leading purpose for the gift of sight

My grip on life to seize the day

my kryptonite when she’s away

My favorite thing to intertwine

my spinach when it’s dinner time

My center line, my Greenwich prime, her love divine inside me

my day defined within her eyes, the sun that rises guides me

She walks into the room and steals the rug from underneath me

the oxygen from out me, she’s the one I love to squeeze me

She smiles of silver with a heart of gold, her body bronze and glowing

holds the planet in her hands, showing magic in a glance,

going fast without a chance of ever getting off or slowing.

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These summer nights are still oh how I’m swept with warm effusion
Chatter bugs envelope residents to charm communion
Not a whisper in the bushes gasses linger breathing lightly
Moments blister in their humid silence singing nightly
The sonorous quietude implies a beauty restless
bird feathers rustle adding prattle to the guest list
a momentary sequencing relinquishing involvement
of an interlocked allotment, oxygen dissolved in solvent
a crinkled bark, a scruffy brick,
a trickling brooke, imagine bliss,
a seated squirrel, a wagging leaf
a rattling pluralistic matting of a million currencies
across the southern strings a star extinguishes its sense of gleam
shining ’til its finished giving life to things around me

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This world seems so big
but really is so small.
I can reach the other side of it with only my phone.
But I cannot make the person I want appear in front of me.
The space around me feels larger than the sky with its endless reaches.
Winds stream through my soul and chill my sense of peace.
Like trying to hold a cloud or capture a ray of the sun, so will go on my desires.
But not my dreams.
The height of this boundless, empty box is only so lonely because I have known such fulfillment.
I can only know the longing of a hundred heartaches because I have felt the joy of a thousand lovers.
Not a heart strapped in chains but one free to soar.
Though minutes pass like days I keep tight to the string that connects us.
No element of time or distance can sway the path from where our hearts swing.
To kick your feet up and feel the excitement of the ride is why the Earth turns.
It moves for us so that we might live in its currents.
To feel the tides against our feet under the shine of a sugar moon.
To unite in harmony with two souls that exist as one.
To dream.
Explore.
To laugh in each other’s arms like children in the Summer.
This world is so big,
but together
we are even bigger.

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