Baby Shoes issue 1

Wheels, inner workings, disassemble sugary coatings surrounding the outer workings of just the last of the few decades of lost momentum, filling mountains with watery, avalanche filled graves, catacombs of unknown soldiers, adjusting to life outside of their box. Floating mentions of fasting mothers, high above with eyes as soft as dawn, sacrifice for you, for me; sententious fingers stroking the follicles of each strand with grace enough to be just that.

Falsities arise when...?

The beginning of a newly found year, began with a frigid start. One of the most beautiful spectacles in sports history, if you are into that kind of thing (which I am). Our problem, we being Western society, is that we idolize in the wrong ways. Sports figures turn figures to rack our brains, something to debate and discuss, something that fuels our lust for supreme hometown spirit. I find nothing wrong with athletics, I find myself lost in the bustle of it all and emotions flood my for-the-moment mindless head, and I fall in love with the beauty that is hockey. Here is the dilemma, hockey players are no better than anyone else, hell, no single person is any better than any other, yet we idolize. What's more, we idolize to tear down; we erect statues just to break them down to show their flaws. This is more evident in the negatives of journalism of the upper ranks of America. Who cares if the star of that movie is getting divorced, who cares if the singer of that band is gay...oh that's right, YOU care because it boosts you above them, you passing judgment through the pixels ingrained and glued to your comfortable couch. Well, today, I forgot that the bulk of professional athletes are guilty of tremendous social and moral infractions, and was in complete awe of the Winter Classic. Sometimes, it is far better to live in the dark and find yourself with only a candle and a book of matches, for the light that we all wish to see is really quite blinding, and the truth really sucks.

p.s.
Lydman the Dudeman!

Early Morning Surf or Disturbing the Waking Sea

Aromas perturb the patterns of cilia

Salt drenched and sea barren

The taste of life, of death

A force is unsolicited that breaks me

A power so immense I can not remove

White caps fill the scope, the view

Blue towering mountains collapsing with grace

One, two, three, dive

I feel within it

A feeling of resentment

Of course!

Off course

I am unsolicited here

This ocean

I know when to remove

Myself

Caveats through the use of near casualty

“I’m out”.

Assistance for Coconuts

We fall like coconuts of age

Graciously gratifying gravity

Ripen with knowledge of the unknown

Departure-ready and resolved

Until we lay at rest on the ground

Waiting for aid to progress

it is easy for us to want to break away and become the individual we so seek to inhabit, however, as we fall from our families, our friends, our structure of growth, we find we still need help even as established characters.

Home forced from the rear
assumed wondrous soon
lacking delight coupled with
feathering sounds create
surreptitious resounding melodies
lamping ideas pushed deep within
conscientious conscious consisting

of

deep delving deities
obdurate confusion stoning at full force
sapience conceding to improper judgment
follow the straight line
"curve ahead"