The city lights go dim.
The asphalt grows dark.
For each turn of the fork burns a mark on the road.
Yellow after yellow middle marker,
I can count the miles.
Estimated same number of bugs on my teeth.
A rider’s life is not measured in years.
Each service station a mile stone,
a degree of manhood.
My surroundings and seasons change.
One thing will always be.
My Vincent Black Lightning.

I remember the middle of winter.
White snow, cold air, and frost forming
on the window.

Driving in my van
staring out my frost flavored window.
Crystals cutting my eyes.
Black ice starting to form
in places that had warmth.

I remember you. Same frost.
Cutting into the warm flesh
of innocence, taking all life.

Two black eyes staring back
through the ice smelling window.
Cutting through seven inches
of wonder, laughter, and tears.

They fall.
Turn into black ice.
Smothering little warmth left.

Your silence is what I love.
The dead silence is what kills me.

When I speak, you listen.
But, only to the parts you want to hear.
When you speak, little is said.
But, every word is gold to my ears.

It’s the silence that kills me.
The dead silence.

The color of silence is gray.
Dead silence is black.
Like your eyes.
They sparkle when it’s the silence I love.

Chicken timer rang.
I set it for 30 minutes.
Laundry is down.
To the elevator.

Button pressed; another bell.
Doors open; Sarah.
Long smile; long pause.
How come no one talks on an elevator?

Four floors left, and you stay silent.
Here is your chance.
Break the silence, effect the world, and rage against a standard.
Pretty girl; two floors left. Ready?

“Hi, I have a chicken timer.”

this pen tracing my soul (my heart, my mind)
only to pick up the tip (nib, point)
looking at stone white paper
not even a mark

I spend hours
trying to match the words
to the visions in my head
Once again to pick up my pen
looking only at messy lines
forming something between truth
and dreams

nothing that truly makes sense
sticks to the paper
But, everything worth reading
comes out of this pen

It’s October again,
time for something new.
Same ol Same ol.
Coffee Shop,
rainy day games getting boring.
Seems exciting, but after six weeks
something new is needed.
September is gone.
October is here.
Time to go