Funkying Longing

Chocolate brown walls melt into blood wine
The colors of my life though not my choice
Artificial tree trimmed with the past—seem apropos
Melancholy uninvited but ever present—like James has become my friend
Choreographed like an amateur basement production
My life is but mere snippets—reaching flailing arms like a space oddity
Lost in space—Only Dr. Smith makes sense in this
Comedy bathed in philosophy
“Oh the pain—the pain”
Tears and laughter are the colors of my life
Emptiness saunters in like the playground bully
I will engage and probably get my ass kicked
It’s victory nonetheless in the colors of my life
I see artistic salve on the periphery—she beckons
My spirit unrelenting—heart pounding
Senses convulsing like a heightened carnal festival
I can smell her but I cannot touch her freedom
When I used to dream—it was like running in place
The combination to the locker of my life I cannot remember
The pigskin in hand—chocolate brown ready to be unleashed into endless flight
A perfect spiral to the anticipated arms of destiny
She falls harmlessly to the ground time after time
Like the endless fruitless reruns of Gilligan’s Island
Trapped by fate never to be rescued
I cannot get a grip