I saw you.

You were wondering-

I saw that too.

It would have been easy to ask,

and you could have, but you already know-

yes, i’m watching him,

the melodic movement of his fingers.

I close my eyes, think about the keys-

black and white,

moving up and down-

so graceful so simple,

makes me long for something minimal,

something like the black or the white.

Something

besides the grey,

grey matter in my brain,

where the melody lives,

where an image lives-

a simple kiss,

a dress in white,

a car in black.

Sometimes…

it hurts to think about it,

and most times I don’t,

until the melody starts,

and his fingers move

on those keys-

the black and white keys,

while I’m stuck in the grey-

in the grey matter,

the part that holds on,

the part that finds him when I close my eyes,

that runs with him in dreams,

like two kids in a field or something

sentimental and sappy like that.

I would have told you that,

but you didn’t

so nevermind.

Nevermind.

©Rk.baker 2012

ha. anyway, tonight i’m writing to a little curtis.

because well, sometimes you just need a little curtis.

people get ready….

about the words-

words, words

enough already.

The ones we release,

the ones we keep,

swallowed up,

gobbled up

words,

lying deep in the gut,

churning and burning,

words that keep coming back up

again and again-

choking, choking, choking

on the words.

The ones you never said,

the ones I never heard.

Why can’t you just say what

you need to say.

Just say what you need to say,

but this time,

say it to me.

Please.

Say it to me.

© Rk.baker 2012

it’s coming, the darkness;

hovering over my shoulder

with heated breath,

stopping me

short-

I pause.

He says he recognizes it,

they all do.

They run from it.

Yet I turn-

Welcome friend,

I’ve been waiting for you.

©Rk.baker 2012

i have too many irons in the fire

most of the time there is a solid

evidence to suggest i may have

developed adult ADD.

there are too many things i want to do.

last year i set goals as i said earlier in a post.

they were learn to shoot a gun, start teaching

fitness classes full time,

get photography business up and going.

i actually accomplished all those things.

but in doing so, it also gave me so much to do.

here it is day two of the new year and

i’m supposed to write something every day.

instead i’m stuck in front of two computers

editing photos from a wedding i shot in december,

while listening to latin cardio music for a class

i’m teaching in the morning.  and in the back of my mind,

there’s that voice that says you should be writing something.

you were supposed to be writing something.

i wonder if this classifies as that something.

Waltzing in all “C” like, strutting.

Barging your way into our lives

like you know us, like you own the place.

Only you’re a stranger.

Sure, we’ve seen you around, we’ve heard of you,

We don’t know you.

You whisper that you’ve come to collect.

But you don’t say it out loud. Not your style.

Only loud enough for those closest to hear it.

We know what you want.

To take from us the thing we love,

To eat away at flesh day by day,

to gnaw on our moments,

nibble on our memories.

You want to replace laughter with tubes,

eating with vomiting,

our home with a hospital.

I see you sitting off to the side of the bed

all smug and proud.

You don’t deserve to be here.

No one invited you.

So why don’t you do us all a favor and get the hell out.

Get the hell out.

©Rk.baker 2012