You're not just standing there
like a dead Constellation.
I see
the lost Art in your eyes,
feel the parts and pieces
that give meaning
to otherwise hum-drum
Mondays,
turn Tuesdays
into a rubies,
the Pollock, finger painting fury
that came as easy as breathing,
where will that go?
Do you know?
'Cause if you don't,
it'll fly into oblivion
like the Passenger Pigeon.
The world will crush you,
twist and turn your quirky smirks
into furtive looks and frowns.
You'll forget the quick lightness
of your being,
the unrehearsed hip twist,
slide and spin,
open-eyed, question mark
gesticulation,
"Room in your coffee?"
I get you - I do.
Please, do more
than I have done.
Daydream often.
See the beauty in foibles.
If not a mountain, climb a foot hill
now and again.
Don't wait for Deus Ex Machinas.
Wave to midnight.
Be passionate.
Be who they say you shouldn't be.
Just be. Yet,
I know,
it's so damned
hard.
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