Lily pads listen to the wind’s drowning whisper,
wondering why not slow to a stop?
Only observing, won’t say a thing.
Miles away, I’m walking down the side streets,
past half pipes and tongue tossed corner beats.
Thoughts unlawfully cross to a sidewalk
to run to the past.
Feet print streets near piled up streetlights.
Slip in a circle to wind up where they were
before they fell in, got lost.
The other side of the frost.
Scrape the handle, dig for keys.
Drive to things I tried to leave.
Roughed up windshield, have a sip.
Check the mirrors, take the trip.
Other side of the frost.
No matter what the cost.
Turning leaves trickle up a stream’s marbled surface,
wondering when the fall ever stops.
Only blowing by, won’t do a thing.
Hours away, I’m skating over blue lines.
Flip, icing life ‘til days drink warmer time.
Eyes surprisingly slide on unfinished rhymes,
reaching out for reason.
this is your life chuck johnson 