footprints

when i'm gone,
what will be left to show i was here?
nothing meaningful.
just meandering footprints
that often went where i ought not go.

and then only briefly,
as each surge of the waves,
the heatbeat of the ocean,
dissolves them
into smooth sand.

they show where i stumbled,
or crawled
but can't show how long i lay,
too weary to get up again.

they show where our paths came together
and we walked,
sometimes close,
sometimes distant.
where we fell
and helped each other up.

but we were never close enough to touch,
to hear your voice,
to see the breeze lift your hair,
or the smile come to your face.

footprints may tell where we parted,
but count as lost
the words we said,
and the words we did not say.

boa

tools sit near half-finished chores
or slip silently away
to hide in dark corners
under camouflage of clutter.

in a fog, i shuffle.
dust collects
on half-sorted piles
of papers and intentions.

the weight pulls,
drags me down.
slowly the boa tightens,
and breath is forgotten.

reality

thrashing in quicksand only makes you sink faster.

once you've been pegged, you can't be unpegged.

losers lose. they never win, and they never change.

they're easy to spot, but hard to avoid.

but you have to try --

losing is contagious.