sometimes it pays to be inconsistent

Sometimes it is not unusual to find that consistency is not
the laissez faire- in fact now one is surprised or even
cares when your communications ramble in and out
of texts and messages from phone to PC.
Sometimes I find it unlikely that any conversation ever ends
since you hard make it worth the effort to make some
impish amends when you interrupt or go silents for a 
few acts or days as that may depend on whether you remember you were talking to him or her and if you intend to leave it open
to some further reason to return to the point
Sometimes is is a play on words to see if anyone gets the point
without getting their collective noses out of joint, I mean its
more a game to play in between posts than search for another word to rhyme like anoint. If you can work that one in here you just won
it unless you remember that the point was to not be consistent
to any extent, then you would appreciate what this poem really
meant.

There's no Anecdote

So here I sit here considering what happened that would make me want to tell the story of how it had to happen. There's no Anecdote.
I met her on the subway or maybe it was the noonday train? It was mostly sunny that morning, that is to say that as far as the cloud cover went it wasn't likely to be spoiled by the apparent lack of rain. There was some flowers growing wildly from a crack in the sidewalk, her shoes were scuffed from running, her socks were white matching the graffiti on the walls behind that were marked with messages written in chalk.
Did I remember her smile, her lack of feminine shape, the old coat she had slung over one shoulder or the way her hair caught it the reluctant breeze of the street? How is it that you remember that she was flat chested or narrow hipped or had all her teeth, but not the color of her eyes as she glared up at my surprise that I would be fortunate again to find her down there to meet?
It is really only happenstance that make it feel like the Russian roulette equivalent to the randomness of chance that I would think to take down anything on note.
You see I was there. I did not really think I would find that she would care. As I said before there really is no story here, just a matter of the lack of it- there's no anecdote.

She glared up through the bangs of her brown hair that I could almost imagine she blew in puffs of righteous fury as if I really had some nerve to be standing there. I remember trying to smile because I wanted to love her just in the moment between opportunity and  the sudden melancholy of future despair. There was no means of imagining a future for us, I was old- she so young that only those who would declare us both perverse could find it in the tiny chilled hearts not to utter some disparaging words like the unwished for curse as if that would somehow clear the matter or even the air.  I know she looked at my lack of taste in clothing and then with just something like a trace of a gentle sneer moved forward to dismiss me from her path and exile me to fall in with the rest of the world that she would reject out the mock casualness of someone too often hurt by the cruelty that comes from passion and fear. For some reason, I cannot begin to fathom even in seconds of fragile lucidity I reached out and softly touched her hair. She froze like the cliched deer caught in the nude in the headlights of some pervs imagine to mouth "Oh shit" unmoving in her desire for flight in a moment when against all reason of defiance she did, in fact, find some miniscule reason to believe that I could be so bold- that I would even dare.

She said nothing as she reached up to my hand as if to strike it from her presence like some tentacle of disease before it could infect the space that surrounded her face. But she just brushed the lock back into it's designated  place. Her hand collided with my own as if by accident and the contact stopped time, as if the science of this crumbling spot of concrete could no longer stand to hold our collective feet. My heart slammed into my ribs as our fingers crossed and i want for the touch to last for the rest of the day, for the rest of my life in the minute or so to transfer the body's heat. Her eyes went wide at the moment when her lips unpainted push her grimace back in search of an impish grin. our pupils met with such force that my breath sucked itself back into my lungs and then she spoke the only words that I could remember to this moment when I could write them down in digits of ecstatic tappings- she said 'For the Win." Then our hands grasped hands. We breathed as one. Science lost meaning and our thoughts spun away like scattered things fleeting. Such was the impact our our two hands at this meeting. I wanted to say something profound as my brain started screaming some words that failed to articulate what we both must have been dreaming. Then her hand slipped away as our shoulders bumped me back onto the crumbling ruin of the city's scene and i whirled to face her smile fading away like the lasting echoes of the now forgotten words I wanted to speak as if I could not begin to say as if the die had been cast or the ballot not even dropped in for a vote.

As I said before and will write it down for all to read. It was so fast there was no time for it to be even a story. It wasn't something I can declare for what it was. There's no anecdote. 

Running Amok

“to make a furious and desperate charge"

Here, there, everywhere.

It's somewhat ecstatic, 

fairly erratic, like conscience 

racing out into the night

yelling like a hooligan

in and out of sight.

Blood chilling on the street

cars are burning, windows

are crashing as chaos reigns

complete like horrible children

throwing tantrums for whoever

could be watching it all on TV

I call you from the kitchen, my

love, come and see

It's an epidemic of insane distortions

like a movie out of all reasonable

proportions, I cannot see a future

but it like a day without the sun

like there is no way around the madness

nowhere for you to run.

untitled

Matthew Lillard is in my Biology class
will he scream? Will he dance?
Where is his buddy Prinz Jr by any chance.
He might be going by another name
but I am sure its him all the same.

Matthew Lillard in my Biology lab
I can't get to leave he doesn't have a pass.
Now he's telling everyone about his fame
but I am onto his little game
will he scream? Will he pout?
Looks like finding Sean Michael Scott is
probably out.

There was snow.

As I lay dying in the snow, I could see the bleakness of the sky empty of life save for one solitary bird flying across my vision like a soul preceding my own.

I can remember how cold I felt, as if the snow were the warmth of my mother's embrace before I would be born into the coldness of the morning that seeped into my joints.

I felt the blood more than saw it as it abandoned my body, warm but cooling as it rushed out of my wound into the crushed ice around me.

I felt so alone as I waited for death as if he were an old friend that I no longer talked to, but knew would eventually come around if I would just wait long enough.

Then you were there running into my field of vision, the scream upon your lips like the shrill sound of emotion torn from a lover that has been forgotten in the past.

As I lay dying in the failing of the light. I found that I would not pass from this world alone. You were there and your touch reminded me of how we had lost so much.

Time slips aways from us, hours become seconds as you pull me

out of the cold wash that I committed the last of my life to meet the coming darkness, to greet my end.

I can remember the greenness of your eyes as they begged me to live, your tears are hot where they fall onto my skin

Is this what love feels like I wonder unaware that I have spoken the words through my parched lips until you blur my eyesight with the proximity required of a lasting kiss.

A Kiss before dying

I remember the burning pain

and blood

on my hands, my blood

I remember tears yours

and mine

on my face amidst your arms

I remember whispers

and snow stained

red, crimson red

I felt hands holding

tightly

I asked for a favor of

you

dishonored and pleading

with a god as cold

as the bloody snow

I asked you for a kiss

then moist heat

then nothing...

Notes: I wrote this in College when I still thought I would want to write under a pen name, utter foolery on my part.

I wanted to call myself The Knight of Shadows as if there was some mission I could pronounce with that label, as if it would have some meaning.

I wrote this after watching Dangerous Liaisons with John Malkovich. It's from a scene in the movie.