An Uncomfortable Home

The mind rests

as the failed artist's blank canvas

...somewhere

Where thinking stops.

Let it play

They say

The playground waits without aging.

The cityscape that grows

free of memorized insecurities

that imagination fails to frame.

I read women

and their surgical love poems

sprinkling droplets

from the waterfall of poesy.

Taking the aridity away

from the skin of my mind

lighting up the poetry that

resides within a poetry.

In a moment's un-notice 

amidst the slippery thoughts.

A little later

Or in the same moment, it all comes to an end

before i begin counting.

Beauty is then forgotten

Telling me my distance

from the places that do not call me.

I might have just loved

with a love I could not bear.