The Best Man

You fall into the web of wedlock. Captured from the younger years, you drift off into the sea of bills, pacifiers, daily routines, and the occasional freedom from machines.

A day has ended with the sun setting, not sure if it went over your head or mine. If only we had more time and a crystal ball, would the day end the way we want it to? Are we able to reverse the sun and watch it sail away over the eastern sea?

Drunk and angry, the blue october past by painfully like the Titanic to the iceberg. Two months later you tell me you're gone. The ship is at the cold bottom with the scaled fish. You are in your state of content.

My Puzzle

I wonder how my puzzle will be pieced together. Glimpse's of a bigger picture scattered across the floor and when it's time to assemble the art, how many parts will be missing? How many pieces will not fit, how many will be fabricated or jammed in to fit? Will the task be taken slowly and maturely or rushed to blur any flaws?

There are pieces for miles headed West on that black top home. There are pieces down by the creek with the ole' bamboo fishing pole. They're in dorms, bottles, beds, down Lavaca, outside donut shops, behind liquor stores, and beneath the ever present stars. Some friends hold more pieces than they realize, others have thrown out what I've entrusted to them.

Unless all the pieces are found, can you see the picture clearly? Clear enough? Can the puzzle be solved even if pieces are missing? Will you ever fully see or understand? I hope.

To Be Wed In March

March comes loudly like a parade of nostalgia down Memory Lane. Festivity all around mixed in with some floats you enjoy and others you would love to avoid. It's entertaining either way.

A tragedy has its dark humor and inappropriate irony while comedy is all too obvious and predictable yet assuredly to bring a laugh.