Happy Birthday George

In honor of my favorite Beatle, I scrawled this little ditty out. it's nothing much and began when i pulled a Robert Frost book from the shelves on a whim, but it became something more and I dedicate it to my one and only.

My lips lick my fingertips

Touching the frost

The leaves are broken

Bitter.

I blink and think about the moments lost

And inspiration found—

‘Constellations of Intention’

Isn’t it pretty?

To think about the trail of wandering inspiration

Hitting the page

Brushing past the backs

Of sweaty palms

And ending their long drawn life

Under snoozing sneaker-clad

Belligerents

Isn’t it sad?

We can’t leave behind

A bed of memories

Only a lackluster muster

At a beautiful sentence

Succulent sentiments stick to my numb,

Numbing,

Thumbing fingers.

We analyze with waking eyes

The sleeping dreams of believers

Dream weavers

And apple scruffs

Just.

It is such a rough feeling

To know

To fully know

That I was never a blip on the radiant radar I praise

But beneath the leaves and trees and screens

And drum-machines

And screaming teens

I commend.

And end—

with the phrase,

This is not a phase. 
A Library / 2013