The Gambler

The compulsion is to just get on the road and drive. Thoughts of forward momentum creep into every moment that I am unable to keep myself properly distracted in rational, adultingly productive containment. They constantly consume my sleepless overnights, that predictable collection of empty hours spent tossing and turning, like a hastily rented car pin-balling south through the mountains. This stagnation is choking my hesitant possibilities. The cookie cutter repetition of each day spent alone melts into the next, just like the limp and deflated traces of the last of the winter snow whimpering just outside the windows of this little blue house. They combine predictably into this tick-tock symphony of stale blandness that bores me to the point of ridiculous self-harm and the compulsive looping …

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Thin Ice

I walked the frozen streets of my little sleepy flyover city tonight. The arctic air strained hard at my chest. Each breath seemed filled with piercing little icicles of crisp uncertainty stabbing at exposed, tender flesh. A familiar ache coursed through veins pumping more whiskey than blood. But the night was brittlely cold and the gentle kiss of a familiar anesthetic promised me a temporary warmth. And I had to steal the significance of that moment. The streets were empty, save for the cast off traces of winter lingering hard in rapidly solidifying mountains of frozen inhibition piled by the roadside. A siren screeched somewhere in the night. The clarity of the air carrying the sound far longer than should be reasonable for such a late …

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The Bunny and the Fox

I missed her before she had even left. It had been a four day whirlwind chaotic dance of ridiculous experience ultimately responsible for shifting my stubbornly black and white world view into a canvas filled with brilliant colors I honestly haven’t seen in decades. And though she is driving farther away from me with each moment that passes as I sit writing this, I simply refuse to let that former blandness fester or linger- I am instead choosing to revel in the light she lovingly left behind for me. We rolled together, through good and bad. We bonded deeply through the momentarily sad and the hilariously unexpected. Because despite the very best of my gentlemanly intentions, it was a challenge actually keeping her on the mattress …

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Who Ordered the Folgers?

Blatant toxicity is ridiculously contagious- and literal distance seems to be the only reliable vaccine. Once identified and isolated, not from a still raging pandemic’s deadly grip, but from within the rhythms of a friendship’s heated implosion, you can never be afraid to walk away from unhealthy situations- it always leads to better things.  Besides, grudges are just…dumb. And the perniciousness of their seductions can be a hard addiction to break, once caught in their cycle. But I did walk away and I am breaking that habit to stroll in the healthier embrace of a genuine heart, not fake and foney ones, with their stupid little games played as a distraction from their own moral decay and glaring inconsistencies. The story of that “break and block” …

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Broken Lace and Fraying Angels

There is inside of me a growing, insatiably relentless simmering, ceaselessly stoked by the taunting heat of unexpected peculiarity boiling and steaming just under the fiery implications of my better intentions. Smoke rises high and hot from the mountains down Tennessee way, clinging to the hills so stoic in their perceived immobility as bare passions rekindle under the threatening storm’s electric, sparking touch. The jagged peaks of less gentle mountains beckon from the rockier west, out in the Centennial state which holds the unique typographical distinction of being where my heart so cleanly divides down Interstate 70’s winding slopes. But then the rhythmic lullaby of a warm gulf’s waves cresting against clean, uncomplicated sands echoes hard enough to be heard over new music played to fight …

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