Clear Cut

Memories are tree stumps

What was, isn’t anymore
what was alive, now is dead
though it harbors new life;
pain, bitterness, wistfulness,
love, remembrance, regret
thrive like so much lichen

On occasion a new shoot
sprouts from the stump,
drawing its nourishment,
its potential new life, from
the decayed remains of
what had once been

While the new seedling may
grow, even thrive skyward

it will never be what was

Midway? All the way? (Love is… #39)

Love is like a day at the county fair

flashing neon, loud music, exotic
sights, smells, sounds, enticements

sensory overload

You know you shouldn’t over indulge
but you do and then you get sick
but what a ride, oh what a ride!

Faster! Faster! Faster!
Up! Down! All around! Spinning!
Dropping! Whirling! Faster! Faster!
Spinning around, wanting desperately
to get off but can’t until the ride stops

a disembodied voice reminds you to
‘Stay in your seat until the ride comes
to a complete stop!

But by then it is way too late.

You are walking down the midway
you are woozy, but need to eat
everything and nothing looks apetizing
and the first thing you grab is cotton candy

Love is cotton candy in the summer heat
sweet, sticky, satisfying – always a mess.

No matter how hard you try to keep your
fingers clean, it is always a great, big
sticky, gooey, wouldn’t-miss-it mess.