Ode to a Trench Coat and a Fedora

I am wearing a fedora
and a trench coat.
I feel like Frank Sinatra,
and Audrey Hepburn,
but I also feel like dancing to some old time music,
like the Jitterbug.

I feel fashionable, of course,
I feel like myself.

In honor of Gives Me Hope

i hear the same words
every day and i
was starting to believe them
now

i don't.

GMH

I would love to go to Walmart,
and Target,
and stores with the disease of Black Friday.
Take the iPods from the mothers, and say, oh did you want this?
then move it over two feet and leave.

If only I could have stayed overnight at Wally World,
like they said we could.
Fun in the sun.

somehow,
today people are together.
laughing, crying,
weeping, sighing.

and i ask why?
why just today?
thanks-giving day
should be every day.

so, as you gather round the turkey,
or tofurkey,
or ham, or spare ribs and crab,
remember that there should be nothing special about today.

because everyday should be a day of thanks.

melancholy ways of whispering
number one melancholy way is with your head cast down
ashamed, or humble?
number two is with tears in your eyes.
remember.

do i just like the words, patterned on my heart? they are lovely and grateful words.
not meaningless.
but there.

there must be twenty
twenty!
clouds I can see,
but this little cloud seems important to me.
it tries to raise higher than all of it's peers,
but it's opponenets sit and jeer.

there must be fifty
fifty!
trees causing trouble
so why does this tree seem like my double?
it rises above the rest of the trees,
to differientiate itself from the forest, it seems.

october
october
october

october
october

oc

to

be

r

there are two eyes staring back at me in
such a loud silence
read between the lines she tells me
and two eyes stare back at her in
such a loud silence.
the deafening silence
you're an oxymoron
I flinch because I read between the lines
and the turned up to eleven quite
that makes me
cry
die
sigh
lie
try to make sense of this oh so
silent mess
those eyes

I cry because I want to live
where the boardwalk is
small-town gossip maybe snow
but when the lights go down on the night sky
the starry night that van gogh painted as he was
locked up
there is a boardwalk

ever-present in dreams
and there's that same old smell
roasting peanuts and
there's the boardwalk

while the rain pours
down on my head
i listen to the wind and take note
of the eerie, strange but
simple silence.

no one likes this kind of weather
except for me
and then i enjoy this weather
because i am unique.
in the rain i feel complete

i am washed away
the only thing left of
me is my core my soul
my heart my hopes
my dreams
my being.

when the rain pours down
i am there in the rain
i am there
i am there by choice
i am present in God's roll call