The Intermittence of Rainfall ( Directionless Dreaming)

Intermittently—

Pianos tripping,   

Overlays the distraction of

A variant shower’s stolen scene

Someplace in the background’s distant frame

Minutia’s outstretched legs

Coveting the space between

Within each the hour’s spent

The cruelty contained

As minutes suffer

The seconds blur

Spiked and dull,

As train-wrecks abound,

Yet hands still clutch

Throttle’s down

It’s somber symphony

Ever playing, soft and slow

Disturbing repetition

The briefly quelled

Eyelids beckon

Of sleep appears

The renewing curse

*quick note:  the piece can be read in either direction, but is meant to be started with the last line and read backwards to the top.  The poem can move in either direction, or so I made that attempt.  What I was going for was to play around with placement, and just see how this notion of placement can alter meaning.  Anyhow, just saying.

Like Ink to a Page

Like ink upon the page,

Like water to the wave,

Seemingly essential,

Yet their happiness

Doesn’t solely depend

On the existence of either of them,

The ink could dry

The page could burn

The wave could die

And for the water, so many possibilities of decay,

And yet,

The ink could be pieced together,

The page could contain a message,

The water could rise and create the waves

That for the man at sea

Either save or end his way

Ink is like oil

And the oil spills upon the water

A page is scribbled upon and tossed to sea,

But not before the match fell on print precisely,

Hell to come if flame to meet,

And the wave would see to that.  Emptiness.