“letting go at slow speed” (series)

Letting Go At Slow Speed Part I.

music & rescue

past tense revolt
of dispassionate ease;
limited to
attacks on sobriety,
simple revolution
never fails.

layered (should be)
frustrations –
on top
until every
ice-cube smashed
on linoleum is
an abysmal failure.
missing a tumbler
six inches away
shouldn’t count as epic
even failure.

i should
stop counting;
one is more
than i know
what to do with.

lucky soul respite
in blueberry music
marking time;
all different,
say different,
speak different,
sing different.

too smacked down
for much else;
glazed glass,
air-tight bottle, 7
earrings & 3 finger
rings & a 3
ring circus with
hot bright light
& more music.

beautiful warmth inside
those shining rings. if
i can’t feel it yet, i know
it’s there to be felt.
want so bad
to be taken in.
no way of knowing
what i need to know
from here;
how the fuck
did i end up outside
lookin’ in?

“hey kid,
dintcha hear?
duct-tape salvation
everything else
at bay.”

not averse to
a strangers idea;
long as the music
keeps playing
i guess that
could come next;
beats waiting
around hopin’.


Letting Go At Slow Speed Part II.

shoulder tapped again

even if what
hippies say is true
(i’m pretty sure it ain’t)
& we’re all cosmically
connected to god’s
big toe on his left
foot, i can’t see how
answering the question
you’re about to ask
can cost me anything
but time and maybe
500 bucks.

even if i
support your
teenage efforts to
pick up a pack of
Camels or a case
of beer, you’re
five years late
askin’ me.

even if you
ain’t found the store
(there’s always one)
that won’t hassle you
for details like
formal identification
or questions of
relative experience,
i assure you they’re open.
it’ll be easier on us
both; you’ll get
what you want
& i won’t feel bad
about not helping
a stranger in need.

“man, you’re a
real asshole. thanks
for nothin’.”

even if he’s
right, i wanna tell the kid
“don’t get fooled
so easily by appearance”
but he’s already gone.
some kids learn harder
than others.

nothing ’bout gettin’
along in the universe
is as easy as it
might otherwise be.


Letting Go At Slow Speed Part III

have we met?

stare at me
as long as you want;
strange sight, isn’t
(that’s an awful lotta
hair for a dude, dontcha

i mean,
i can ignore anything
if you make
it worth my while.
holding my breath &
exhale long,
breathe deep
& a
pleasant sigh.

remember when we could have those
that would last for days
& even then the best we
ever did was agree to
me either.

still, ain’t nothin’
really worth staring at.
why are
looking at me like that?


Letting Go At Slow Speed Part IV


come closer.
ground to sky &
i can hear
the creek gurgling;
i’m hallucinating
summers afternoon
at midnight.
goosebumps give
away the

come closer.
i pulled
my hat
way down;
either hiding
from the dark
sitting still
in a daylike
night depending
on what
you know.

come closer.
there should
be music
to boil over
but never really
getting there;
artificial light
won’t mask the
gurgling creek.


come closer.
alone in falsely
lit two ayem
silence is no
way to
together. i
could help
you slay
your dragons &
you’d help me
my demons.

i know you can’t
hear me.
i know you won’t
come closer.

you fight alone;

guess i
should do
the same.

i was
askin’ because
i had
to know
for sure.

good luck
to us both.


Somewhere along the line, everything went haywire. Onto other ideas as always. Curious if anyone found the thematic consistency a little flawed? It’s there, just not as prominent as I’d like.

5 Responses to ““letting go at slow speed” (series)”

  1. Mrs. Snediker Says:

    Even though I doubt you’re remembering me, yeah, I remember those long conversations that lasted for days. I remember the conversations, but not the subject. A lot about music – a lot about love and hate and ambition and not wanting to go anywhere ever. Agreeing to disagree = throwing your The Capt is Always Right sign at the wall?

    • Too funny to think back on, but no, the poem relates to hearing the voice of someone close but with no recognition of that intimacy. I had actually written one about you & the Mr. a few years back but never posted it anywhere.

      Fucking A I miss that sign. Good luck on the stage. I’m sure you’ll knock ’em out.


    • You too. I will surf on over to read some more on your page later today. (BTW – this is a sad set of poems about letting go of some bad history in poetic form. So yeah, lol, sad sad sad!) No tears tho, because boys aren’t allowed to cry. Thanks for reading this, it has not seen too many eyeballs! Take it easy,


      • I felt the pain. Yes boys are allowed to cry, in the arms of someone who understands 🙂
        I read each entry since I have discovered your blog and enjoying your journey to redemption/happiness or wherever it leads…

        someone’s reading you lol…

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