I was born naive through no fault of my own.

I was raised naive by the fault of someone not streetsmart…

However you eventually learn that anyone is capable of deception. I’ve known people who deceive just to prove they can do it.

And despite all this knowledge…

The great I am can be fooled.

I know someone who will tell you how honest they are and then explain to you something you know isn’t true. And yet it would never occur to me that this person would forge a document and falsify themselves in court.

I got ya now!

I couldn’t keep a straight face.

Oh the smiles had to fall.

That was such a tragic story.

How you suffered for us all.

You walked with Christ and Buddha.

Don’t know how you found the hours.

All those burdens you did overcome.

And still had time to smell the flowers.

I am basking in your glory.

If I dare to stand that tall.

Be careful with that next step.

And that Pride before the fall.

I am floating now

Without purpose.

There is nowhere to go to

Nothing to see

I am void.

Purposeless.

It will take some getting used to this floating…

The cat is yelling at me to be fed.

The ferret has a look of need as I float past the cage.

My daughter will wake I’m sure in a couple hours and she will have needs…

And tomorrow there will be that job I go to .

But for now, I am floating without purpose.

The man at the coffee shop counter said to me smiling, “It’s a magical day. “

I didn’t feel like raining on his parade so I replied  “If you say so… a little early for such sentiment from me.”

He continued to say that the barista had a rabbit and he had a top 🎩.  The barista smiled at the comments and continued making my americano; and then shorted me $5 in change.

I looked at the ‘it’s a magical day’ guy and said, “You’re right! She made $5 disappear.”

He laughed. She blushed; corrected my change and I left.

The sun is bright and the air is cool 😎

Might be a magical day after all!

She is in me now

I want all of this

Her voice has fears

And I am searching for ways to satisfy

This thing between us is very raw and I am

Exposed

She is in me now

This will be the last time for me

I am certain of nothing but I am alive…

There are murmurs on the subway again. People are talking, however I don’t listen. It’s just background noise to me now… Generations have gone before them. I pretend I’ve heard it all.

They have ceased being silent, their fears are on hold, yet no one sits on the empty seat beside me. They all prefer to stand. I am tall and large and tattooed up, and yet my kindness somehow doesn’t shine through.

I heard Peter again this morning, ranting and yelling about some perceived crime against his serenity.

The downtown core hasn’t changed. Beggers and addicts rub shoulders with the elite and they are all headed south on the same train.

I am headed north to a place where I can clean my teeth and smile at the world with hopefully more enthusiasm and less disdain.

No one I know is holding their breath. I think of V often now. She is the happy Murmur in my head.

My biscuits take on butter and my coffee takes on cream.

I’m bored with modern culture, and here I hold the scream.

I am curious and embarrassed to wonder what is next.

Like all anticipation when I’m waiting for her text.

She loves me but I’m doubtful, I know she has a fear.

I’m thinking about dying and there’s nothing quite that clear.

In a world of hope and wonder, there is something almost sad.

Like narcissists self importance when only mirrors are the fad.

After the birth of my daughter I never thought I would experience this again and yet here it is. It is an incredible thing to experience love.

This is no small thing this thing she has given me. Imagine that! And we have not even held hands…

Nothing more or less than attention and the ability to express honesty and be accepted without reward.

There is something cathartic about watching or listening to rage.

I’m not talking about the incoherent rants of the Mad that are so prevalent on the streets of my neighborhood in Parkdale.

No I am speaking of the rages and real complaints that come from intelligence and the well spoken.

Certain singers come to mind: Marianne Faithful singing Working Class Hero or Why D’ya Do it?

Bob Dylan’s disgust at almost anything.

I seem to be a fan of intellectual rage.