Home Alone

Home Alone

A blank canvas 

at the end of the week,

a paint that’s something between

a cigar walk on the beach 

and the comforting feeling 

when the tempo of current events 

keeps the cadence with your own anxiety,

“Ah,

I can finally breathe.”

An image of chaos 

mirroring 

the picture of society,

funny while coincidently eerie,

like the poetry reading 

when two writers bonded 

over their shared experiences 

with a 5150,

a kickboxing routine 

on YouTube 

in the middle of the week,

a life’s search to find Jesus 

when meaning 

has always been with me,

a blue heron needs searching,

but what he thought was a fish 

turned out to be 

a broken plastic piece

from a thrown out kitchen sink,

goddamnit nicotine,

it might be time to admit

that first one fucked with me.

A man’s warning,

“Don’t move!”

“What?”

“There’s a bigass rat behind you.”

A walk alone

for a different point of view,

waking up from a dream

to see you recognize this street,

to witness death 

is to see how to live,

faith without testing

has nothing to it,

a little hiccup

and we all give up

even though 

we claim to believe.

A scene from a childhood movie,

“Have you ever danced 

with the devil 

in the pale moonlight?”

A sunrise for midnight,

Heaven like Hell, 

divinity and damnation 

are almost the same thing,

home 

is where the memories are buried, 

alone

is when the feelings start surfacing,

and together 

they know that there is no one else to blame 

if you’re still unhappy.