Late Night Mind Walks

Late Night Mind Walks.

 

 

I have discovered
that there is much
comfort in keys tapping
like an old friend

at the window.


Fingers wiggling

in a tender wave,
a smile of whimsy
bends my lips
and they form an Oh!!


I realize that
poems are wine,
vintage sips of
yesteryear...

tommorrow...

forever.


I grow heady
aroused by

the scent
the taste,

the essence
of putting words to my
bottled up life.


Though the

hour is late
my mind shakes

off sleep
like water repels oil.
while loneliness slinks
in the shadows of love
peeking at its brightness.


I could smoke almost
anything right now
coat hanger tubes
lawn clippings
even fish.


Old habits die hard
but this poetry thing
is eternal.


I suppose I will
even rattle my bones
in tidy little rows
that paint

prettier pictures
long after I

am ensconced
in satin and bronze
six feet deeper then
the last poem I wrote.


If they offer

cushions for a skull
why not poetry

for the afterlife
after death ever after.


A dog barks
a train whistle wails
a light bulb flickers
and the keys to my dreams
they lie before me.


Can I make any

sense out of
qwertyuiopa
sdfghjkl
zxcvbnm.


it is the seventh

sense this art
it opens up worlds
that most never

dare enter.


Simply unscramble

the keys
and enter
stroll....

scroll....

through
soft mists,
peach clouds,
sweet kisses

that go on and on,
a song that is chrystal clear.


The rulers are

the subjects
and the subjects rule
gatherings of

everday words
into masterpieces.


Let me come back

as a keyboard
reincarnated as

simply this.


Beat me

into submission
pound some

sense out of me
enter me.... exit me
let me shift into

the backspace
that I once left.


Home is here
between

page up and

page down.


Insert my

soul there,
delete the mundane,
it lies next to end,
keep tabs on me
and I will go

on forever,
pursuing

what I love.


Escape with me now
wiggle "your" fingers

in a gentle wave
let a smile of whimsy

bend your lips
my old friends at this

window to the world
that monitors

the finest wine.


share a chardonay

day with me
and let a bit of t

he poetic nectar
spill across these

white sheets
electronically scanned.


Sleep is overated
print your dreams
with eyes wide open
maybe then they

will come true.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

©-MFB III


 

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