these things to come are merely dreams.

bank teller

the automatic door was hard to open without using the button. it did not want to budge without being asked to do so. eventually it gave up it's fight and complied with mike's attempt to enter the bank. a sign asking patrons to remove hoods, hats, and sunglasses hangs on the cantankerous door. perhaps they think that if a bank robber is willing to follow these things they might give up hope on nicking the money from the place. how could any cunning bank robber foresee such a well written sign that would inhibit their robbing of the bank. but mike isn't such a criminal. these things do not concern him. carefully filling out the deposit slip at the counter with better penmanship than normally but still somewhat atrociously, the odd bills bulging in his pocket linger on his mind. some tens. some fives. a lot of ones. approaching the teller, she smiles hard at mike like every other time before. she knows him by name but he doesn't have a clue as to what her's may be. mike just knows her as the tall skinny gal with the short dark hair and no ring on her finger. she looks like a Bethany he thinks to himself. he approaches Bethany with the deposit slip and cash in hand. they had never really talked besides the random bullshit everyone does with people they don't know what to say to. "oh i guess the Superbowl was yesterday. whatever." she counts the bills carefully making sure that the amount on the slip is the correct amount in hand while gathering this look on her face that makes it seem as if she would like to ask mike a question. he looks at her with utmost confidence and simply says, "hm?"
looking like a child caught with her hand in the candy jar she meekly replies, "oh i was curious about all the cash you were depositing. you're not a male stripper are you?" ending her sentence with one of awkward smiles. the kind you get when you know what you're saying is stupid right as you are saying it.
chuckling to himself, "haha no not at all. im just a drug dealer."
thinking he is just pulling her leg she laughs and says something along the lines about how she is an illegal arms dealer.
"well i seriously doubt that since i know all of the ones in town. but i understand the joke. but i assure you, if it is frowned upon by the government i can sell it to you."
there is that hand in the candy jar look again.
"being a bank teller must be so boring?"
"so mundane that every time a black man walks in you start to hope that he is toting a gun underneath his coat."
"well i doubt anyone will ever try and rob this place, but if anyone ever plans on doing so ill give you a heads up if you'd like. i would hate to see your name (whatever it may be) in the papers"
"thanks that would be lovely. oh here is your receipt by the way, have a good day riley."
"thanks, you too.."
mike thinks to himself while walking out the barely movable doors, what the hell? apparently she doesn't know my name.
oh well. i don't know Bethany's name either.

iris

different eyes see this world
differently
to some it's beautiful
to others it's a hellish nightmare
my eyes are always dark brown
seeing evil hiding in the shadows
never missing those who do evil things
lying. killing. raping.
losing hope for humanity in its entirety is a sad thing

you change my paradigm
you and your changing eyes
green to grey
grey to blue
blue to green

a thing layer of beauty coats my eyes
softening this world

morning

four a.m.

i have been alone with my thoughts and Jack Kerouac
for sometime now

i want to sleep, i really should rest
i will regret this in the morning
fuck, it is the morning

the snow is deep
the thoughts are deeper
consuming the rest of my mind
with interest. with concern. with pretty words.

locks and alarms
man walking in the middle of nowhere
truck in the ditch
not a single cop
numerous snow plows

these thoughts come in no particular order
backtracking to fake elegance is a hell of a thing
one can feel as if cheating his original thoughts
his original self
but i am who i am right now
and this isn't really an end

but thanks to these cups of coffee with unseen bottoms
i cannot sleep
but chemical imbalance cannot be blamed for it all
the thoughts plague my mind without end
the way the coffee poured early without end
so i walk
walk in the cold to my truck

at this hour the pale brilliance of the moon contrasts the navy blue sky along with the cantaloupe coloured clouds
i drive and warm
driving alone on the deserted streets
like the last salmon swimming up stream
after driving and warming for some time
the snowy coating on LouEllen is reduced to droplets
but her heart remains intact if not somewhat thawed

i must truly thank those before me
for helping to appreciate these few simple things
the camels and Arizona for instance
i drive slowly
i am not in a hurry to arrive anywhere
the boundaries are hard to recognize beneath the depths of snow
but i can see where i should not be
so i know where i should
pain isn't pleasure. pleasure isn't pain.

there is no music
silence like this should not be pissed away
i still think to myself
and then think to myself why i don't just talk to myself
words must be constructed carefully before bound to permanence
when you don't take time to sleep
the days run together in odd ways
yesterday seems like today
last week seems like last month
but right now. it is always right now.

I Was Here

the path leads me deeper into the trees
running alongside the recently thawed river
i tromp down to the majestic beast's edge
not caring of the state of my shoes
caring less about my safety
solid sheets of ice cling to tress telling me how high the water was the day before last
the river was here before me
here before anyone built a path to admire it from
as was the rest of nature
that is how it was, and it will continue to be after i and the lot of us cease to exist
i continue on my journey
this is not a journey of distance but of contentment and fulfillment.
a stones throw away, regardless of my impromptu appearance, a small woodpecker searches for a meal
while admiring his determination, a determination that he has had to know his entire life lest he die, a human like noise startles me
for noises like that and perfectly straight lines do not belong in nature
but after some inspection im lead to believe that it was merely the ice melting and joining the rest of the ice and water and dirt and such that had left before it.
coming to a bridge, i stop.
i stop because i am not ready to cross over this bridge or into what lies past it
a family of ducks sitting in the river must be cold as i watch them let the current take them away
i left my mark on that bridge that particularly sunny February day, and i am certain it will not be there i a month's time nor was anyone witnessing me carve into the old weathered wood with a pocket knife.
but i know.
and i remember.
I Was Here.