bucheau

Across the universe of what ends up being only my head often echoes the lyrics of seeming thousands of tunes which so commonly find permanent perch while sensations of holding my child’s hand along the zoo path or listening to the puttering pouting sleeping lips of my wife exhale amid daytime dreams while I knot my necktie for another day lose footing regardless of my wish to recall. “What do I do when my love is away?”… “Does it worry you to be alone?” It seemed simple enough to assume this meaning as the absence of a girl, but I wonder instead now if the query regards the vacation of the emotion. I cannot

I almost completely abandoned my fervent belief in atheism when it appeared ther must be a god because, in HIS glory, HE saw fit to have the USA girls wearing white bikinis perform their volleyball final victory for gold amid a massive rain storm rendering their wardrobe wet and periodically transparent. Until, that is, immediately post-game when the taller of the two (a 6' 4" amazon) made a special point to give a shout out:  "Oh, and I want to say Thank You Mr. President for the great job you are doing and all of the support you give." My minor generic lust quite became the 180degrees of regurgitory disgust. God isn't just dead.  He is f

Am I here anymore?  This mask claiming reality feels faded and cushy, a bubbled shell of memories and remnants of a dream I once owned.  I find that I wobble, maintaining vertical within these bounced walls of dense inertia without reverberation for to echo requires depth and direction and distance and determination.  Requires reality. I am more apt to relish the saliva-inducing memory of a tarragon-infused steak slowly dissected by tongue and teeth in a heavy wooden restaurant just what seemed to be last evening than I am to even remember the name of the smile leaving the vacant air of this square merely perceived seconds surrendered to wha