There are grooves in my mind.

Channels, you might call them

where those thoughts,

the ones that gnaw at you,

the ones you hate to dwell on

flow from their source,

where they bubble up

unexpectedly, uncontrollably,

to all-too-familiar conclusions.

Each time carving a little deeper,

each time stinging a little more.

There are green valleys in my mind.

Ones I wander again and again,

the ones I love to dwell in

when the outside world

is sadly lacking, devoid of life.

There are springs here

that never run dry,

are never lacking in surprises

though I visit so frequently

and stay so very long.

Streams I love to follow

to ever-exciting conclusions.

I find a world inside my mind

full of uncertainties

and timeless truths,

for life lies in more

than the physical.

---

I caught this

when trying to do homework,

felt the familiar tug

on lines that are always set

(perhaps my subconscious

was looking for distractions);

started reeling

with no expectations,

no idea what I would find.

I confess I was hungry

for fresh poetry,

still dripping with mental juices.

You never know

when inspiration will strike,

so be ready to set the hook

before it flits away.

There are far too many

rotten poems out there.

A clean, fresh poem

should be more beautiful

every time you see it.

I find that poetry is bursting with flavor

if, instead of injecting unnatural vocabulary,

you simply consider it something to savor.

Come, dear.
I'll take you away,
for we don't belong here
with these poets spouting
about tangled sheets,
even more generic
and explicit
phrases.

Yes, we'll leave them
to their cigarette smoke
(a necessary ingredient)
and destructive spirits
(for blurring the lines).

I'll describe
the mysteries
of water's depths,
its character,
many moods
and colors

and in turn
you'll weave visions
of leaves' shades,
secrets whispered
by many trees,
maps of their skins.

Yes, we'll follow
their maps along
circular pathways
until we reach
the metaphysical.

We'll speak of
the qualities of light
in glowing terms,
we'll bask
in the radiance
of our innocence.

And when
evening approaches
we may embrace
before going our
separate ways.

We have a lifetime
to make mistakes,
and a lifetime
to regret them.

We are both
in uncharted waters,
you and I.
Contemplating
similar journeys.
You lead the way.


Time is fluid,
can be
stretched,
compressed,

frozen.

Waits for no one,
follows the path
of least resistance.


How far along that river
until we meet again?
What lengths do
we go to
for love?
(How long
will we travel?)


Time is rushing,
but it stands still
when I think of you.