The Things You Don't See Coming

We know what's good for us, but then we think it snows
In late September, when our temporal oceans swell
And we show up in places, first in line, for the first time
Caught off guard, People and lights, spares and strikes
Your tongue is your enemy, as you flounder like fish
Knowing what to say, but writing it down instead
I think we've been here before, at another peculiar door
Though the beat master and the computer haven't met
Telling yourself, knowing that this could end badly
But chasing your tail or tomorrow, whichever which it is
Hello, I like you, but I seem to have forgotten my name
Have you seen it on your way in, No well, that's just swell
No one expects much, but finds ways of hoping for everything
Or just little bit, Most people find they will take that too
Often though, we just like complicated, nicknamed adventure
Puzzles we cannot find the pieces to, but fail to throw away
Sometimes trapped in opposite boxes, You find your spare parts
Life is crazy like that, a chaotic, neurotic, enduring and beautiful mess
Of which everyone must survive, but no one knows quite why
To just be stopping in one day, to find that everything has changed

Summer's End

The birds know the wind, They've been here before
Rooftop preparations for a deliverance into Mexico
The beach is quiet now, If waves turn, it is not written
Lounge chairs have receded to their wooden homes
Planks upon barefoot, A reminder of that which comes
Long ago maybe scribed, Wind bends the pages to and fro
A sanctuary from sweat, Though I muse it temporal bliss
Summer Sun sets, bearing down on the empty beach
The last of its might a brilliant orange, it captivates
Panoramic horizon, no blank page is left upon clear sky
The end ebbs and nears, though not today, not this place
On the morrow, its version will reach the heavens again
And the ice cream truck will stroll sandy shore lines late
Children, building empires, They listen for its jingle
Sunbathers, unaware of the change state, lay out once more
The aging fisherman even, from pier 22 or perhaps 23
His long white beard waving in the wind as goes his line
The tide, it bends his fate, a reminder of dawning change
Some lost little pup, sniffing and yipping at everything
Forgotten temporarily, but never too far out from home
All of this comes into view from the corner lot of time
I was here last year, perhaps a little younger, no wiser
Faces will change, as do names, but never the premise
Mayhap a Yorkie and not a Chihuahua,  my eye stirs
Its the mixture of warmth and wind, eternity and temporal
A blend at the changing of the guard, a magic place indeed
There you will always find me, yet untouched by time
Where the wind blows, and the roads, oh how they bend
There you will find me, in the grasp of Summer's End

Examining Money

A man rushes to the latest race
Yells for coffee through a speaker
Pull around please, Wait your turn
The window goes down, hand goes out
He holds for Bubbly a crisp new twenty
Which she casually deposits, to the drawer
A rich man does count it at the full of moon
Drives it over to the local bank, at morn
And after, later: paychecks are cashed
A welder asks for twenties please
Some travel home, Others into obscurity
Gas for traveling, Cocaine to pass the time
Sitting in his lonely chair, at dusk or so
He snorts away his pain as like before
Twisted between his aging, shaking fingers
Mr. Jackson from Starbucks, neatly in a roll
At daybreak, cigarettes are traded for
By way of an unfurled twenty note
But leaving again just as quickly
As change for a traveling bloke
He who's headed back to Kissimmee
But stops off into the night
One room left, for sixty sixty three
Cash is fine sir, It's the American way
But the attendant has a problem
The bills just find their way in pockets
No cameras to catch, their pilfered state
Not a bad guy, Just trying to feed his kids
A twenty at the market, cereal and gallon milk
The clerk gives it swiftly away though
To a man with a much larger gait
And he who drinks away his worries
Does come across it with a grin
At the station the next town over
Its used to buy his car some food
Driving late into the night, vision blurred
He hits the car of the business man
The one who started with the note
Lying twisted, he dies in the shine of moon
Not knowing, his fate was but his own

No Mark is Permanent: A Wise Man Runs

Alone on the beach
Trudging through sand
Particles from grander pasts
Cling to your bare feet
Their weight upon your limbs
Slows down your pace
The ocean nears its mouth
Waiting for you, always
For the sand to halt you enough
Then comes the rain
Encouraging the waves' wrath
To swallow you
As your pace lessens, slacks
You are heavy now
All your baggage bends your knee
You flail to keep moving
When the current drags you deep asea
Seagulls cackle and swarm
The last dancing crest covers your head
Waves batter the shore
Removing the  print of your journey
The sand quickly forgets you
As the seagulls fly out for cover
Leaving behind a desolate, empty beach
Another evening, Another sunset

A traveler now comes at dusk
The wind whispers lies of the future
Your essence joins its chant
Now the sand wakes its slumber
Another captive approached
This one, He's more nimble
Outstepping the heaviness of sand
And though the wind whips
His knees rise to meet the darkening sky
His body is fluid motion
Shaking one thousand years from his feet
The moon spotlights his race
His desire, His drive
The sky opens its girth with violent force
And still, the traveler streaks.
His clothes sodden, his eyes blind
He runs through rain drops
Sand, waves, and wind
Cannot catch the fleetness of his soul
A dune appears in the distance
Over its girth he sails into infinite blackness
A solemn beach lies forgotten
Some seagulls return, cackling, searching
While the moon illuminates emptiness
Waiting for the Sun again