in real time

no doubt i’m here real time as they say another year under my belt this late summer and what have i done jazz in my head most of the time now me more than ever two different people warm bubbly attentive to the rescue then the other me just like everybody else exhausted empty hurting under professional care but me thinks i need a tailor i’m falling apart at the seams the bigger my smile the wider the mess behind it but forward i confess and we must go in real time time what is time other than a sentence time time what is it keeping me in cages too little freak out too much freak out there is no middle ground God will i ever know why the time is what it is hey but on the bright side there is *Cassettes with Postcard from Kreuzberg in real time in real time not jazz but comfort looking out the window the birds and squirrels visit less often COVID wearing off i guess in real time hmm i wonder how the Traveling Wilburys would have covered Postcards or what would GnR have done Metallica is too harsh no me thinks Reeves is best in real time after work get food for pets hand out some change to the corner dweller for cigarettes so tired of you today L.A. in real time although you know i love you 

*Check this cool cat out https://nickreeves.blog/2020/05/29/her-anarchy-baffles-cassettes/

dare me

you were an accomplice to my light and joy torn from me
i small and a child you the siren scream shrill tearing through my skin

now i old and strong i proclaim that as long as i breathe you can’t deprive me of giving joy to others

black

there she is on top of the ashen tree clacking away encroaching upon the mid inky night air

moon veiled like Italian black lace and stars tinier than usual so far so far away

her feathers drenched ebony widow’s gown bereft of her heart’s departed master me thinks i named her Lilith

perhaps she asks for the blackberries in the shallow gainsboro painted stoneware plate two inches from the window with the opened livid curtains

more troubling yet she reads my murky thoughts of Aqua Man playing Chopin on the piccolo dressed like Elvis with sequined fish tail

needless to say under my breath could she be the harbinger of death yet the polish from my nails flaked from the day’s excruciating angst