Tag Archives: snow

it’s just a car

Just a hunk of scrap metal now, really.

There’s an empty space in the street where my car used to be. A gift in a desperate time. Never gave me much trouble at all. Got me from here to there. I brought it with me from NC when my life changed.

One of the few ties I had, really.
A few minutes ago a man chained it up and drove it away. Forever.
Now there’s just an empty space. Except for some busted glass and plastic.

I guess I’ll get a little money from the insurance company.
And i have the memories of friends and lovers who rode with me on my adventures and quests.

And the ghost of the giant who used to drive it.

But right now all I see is the empty space.

Another loss in the tally-book.

It’s Dawn’s birthday, and there was snow there. I know that made her happy.

It’s just a car.
It’s just an empty space.

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Filed under poetry, Public Diary

1/7/17

Very chilly night, but here I am. Sitting on my back porch, sipping lemon tea and nibbling a raspberry Pop-Tart. Foolish man.

I’ve come to terms with being alone and not being lonely. My work helps. I’m marketing and spreading my brand in order to secure the work I need in the future. Lately I’ve been paying dearly for not planning, for letting sadness and depression keep me down. Little steps, I’m going to be okay.

There was snow last night and into the daylight. My green backyard is white and glittery, sparkling in the light from the street lamps.

My best friend’s sister had babies today. Twins, one of each. Born on (to me) a lucky numbered date. They are beautiful and pure and perfect. Touched me a bit …

Today, look for the pure and innocent. The virgin snow, the burning, constant light from the stars.
The human sunrises being born every day.

The world is you.
The world is me.
We will make of it what we please.

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Filed under Public Diary