Idle Steps 3.23.24
“Dreams of a Love that I Know"
I’ve been dreaming of a lover
Made of bits of ones before
How they all fit nice together
When puzzle-placed upon the floor
Bit by bit they lock in place
Like a thought-made frankenstein
Though the heart is ever pounding
Oh, how I’d love to make her mine
Oh, moon – oh, stars
Sweet heavens above
That tooth of mine is gnawing, teething, craving
For that damning contemptible thing called love
I've been thinking of the good times
All the moments held so dear
Is that pain that oft accompanies
That downfall – do I fear?
Should I be ripped to ribbons
Tie me tightly ‘round your heart
‘Fore you say, “I love you so”
Though truth be told, I can’t recall being told that part
Thereupon my morning rise
Greater is the wakeful pain
Losing dreams
As lovers lost to time, in youth – the same
I have been longing, nay, been yearning
Whilst learning to love myself, just as
As I approach mid-third-decade
The facade of youth, like morning fog fades whereas
The me I made in middle school
Remains there cut, as the rug
Arms outstretched in cruciform
So lover, me, do hug
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.22.24
“Feather Fall"
Brown speckled goose-feather floating
Purposelessly through the pre-rehearsed motions
Rooftop dancer, answer me this
Are you lost, are you falling, or found?
Angels fall to devilry upon the ground
Does evil then corrupt your downy hue?
And as I rise these high-rise steps–
Do I achieve divinity, where freedom’s to be found?
Will I crash down so gracefully in absence of a sound?
In racing stripes and spots of white and brown
Flapped uselessly in discordant-dance-descent
Like you, upon the ground, discarded, shall I be found
Denouement, disclose this dire feeling; gloating
Should ought as I, be as light as that dappled-weathered-feather
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.21.24
“Sunday Was For Feasting"
White bone wood balm
Paler than the droughted palms
Dreaded, unfed’ed
Weary weak appraisal
Arrival on most high
Elated, delayed and held up
Caravans halt
No passage, no river crossing
No life crossing, no passover
White bone-wood palm
Sun bleached, white washed
Bulldozed over on sleepless nights
What driftwood will wash ashore?
From undrinkable water
To unlivable land
Is this the promise?
As written, as planned?
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.20.24
“Late to Work”
The body will rest
Whether you like it or not
Should you plan it
Or demand it
Allot it the time
The body will rest
To reset as you choose
The sleep you might lose
Will accrue and will strike you
A lot of the time
The body will rest
So do you best
To make your time
So that you might make your peace
Allot yourself time
Lest you grave oversleep
Watch as you weep
As the day passed you by
No matter, you try
To linger awake
Sleep will take you
As the reaper
The sleeper
Waits for no one
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.19.24
“Wrong Right Turn”
Lace up your boots, boy
Crimson and white
Wear ‘em to school where you’ll show ‘em who's Right
Put up a fight, when the man is little and brown
Smile in their face as you force them to frown
You’ve got the world, bully, boy, bully boy– you
And at the slightest of sleights you will beat them all blue
So pull up them boots, laced up tight and up tall!
Show the world Rightly, who should beck at your call
Take to the streets with your leather, your chains, and your studs
Stipe every rules of the Stars with your buds
Bigger the crowd grows, camaraderie loose
You stand on by as they bring out the noose
Small is the feeling inside of your chest
Little-boy drummer goes rat-a-tat-tat, trying his best
March to their step boy, you’ve laced them up locked
No turning back now, the exits are all blocked
Don’t say a word, don’t show a sliver of fear
Whether you do or you don’t snarl or jeer
Whether you lace or unlace those boots
The dye won’t wash from your hands, no matter dressed up suits
So whilst the world burns around you
Riddled with magazine-burst words that slew
Look around in the aftermath–at the world you destroy
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.13.24
"Monopoly Money”
Cream of the crop
Run and run ‘til I drop
The gears all around me
Show no sign they’ll stop
Am I the wheat or the chaff?
Who will have the last laugh?
Scoop a handful of water
But not tasting a drop
Milk spoils but cream flows
Through my fingers like nobody knows
The water wheel turning
Each rotten-noséd year
No expiry date
Empty pantry; food late
All of this action–
With what left to have for it; save the sweat on our brows
That alone, droplet, mine
Part of this flow; feast to dine
When precious time, so little to whine
We’re all trapped in the maze of it, desperately mum, desperately mime
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.17.24
“Remains”
This is not a threat
Nor a promise nor a plea
Not a bargain not a sigh
Not a happenstance said free
This is not an oath
Nor aphorism nor prayer
Not a hope not a beg
Not whisper not a swear
Solemnly spoken
In cool-wintered head leveled
Eyes fixed through the hills
Towards the horizon-expanse
The great bow and bend of the land
Simply stated
To no one in particular
But I
I was there
I was listening
And
I will be missed
When the me who spoke those words
Will no longer be here
And some other me
So diamond-faceted over stress and time
Remains
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.16.24
“XXX.99”
Never skimp on shoes and sheets
And mattresses
I make sure to only buy
The best I can afford
Clearance sale when my shoes are worn through
My feet are bleeding
And my sleep is suffering
My waking hours
I have long forgotten
“The American Dream”
For even in what little sleep I can afford
I do not dream
In night nor day
So little left is there to skimp
As towards my labor, I ardently limp
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.15.24
“Isn't It Grand?”
Expectations fall short of count
To what amount(s)
Little less for much more
Spring-leaf hopes
Looking for green
Mean-eyed frantic
Trans-oceanic
Waiting for the pot to boil
The silt to turn to soil
Water turn to oil
And everything
To add up
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.14.24
“Avi Maria”
Give me a panic in the midst of the night
Phone call, ring– answer
“Are you alright?”
Listen, are you sure?
Heart leapt through my chest
Do my best, listen to her
Sure ended my rest
With a start, with a fright
Though by your voice, I am the most blessed
Little over past-midnight
Struck awake, with drownéd, dreaméd sweat
From your slurréd, sordid, swiftéd speech I might–
Glean some answer simple-neat
To quell my panic mood
How else might you conjure me to wake as so to greet
A conversation, so sleepily ensued
For I’m to wake, to listen too, as you are so very far from sight
And I, too polite, to leave unanswered–rude
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.13.24
“360i vs 1080p”
My childhood is filled with cigarette burns
In the corner of the memory,
Where I spliced it
Filled with photo grain
Rough and course photos that flatten color
Yet in their dullness
With wood slat walls
Family painted walls
Messy and bright and warm
The burns and smoke and browns
Felt all the more alive
Felt far more absence than the frowns
My childhood was filled with promise
Of the soft and round tomorrow
I’m here today and like before
Am looking forward still
My nows are filled with smoke
And sharp and vibrant color
With white washed walls
Enough to make Tom Sawyer blush
Redder than any paint
The white the white the white
And clean unlived in presentation for sale
Felt all the more unliving
Felt all the more stale
My childhood is over
My now is always for sale
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.12.24
“Living Room Nap"
Sleeping in never stopped being a luxury
Better yet was to wake
With blankets– take
And secret myself away to the living room couch
The basement futon secret pouch
Looking forward to a movie – yeah, this I have to see
Sleep never felt so good
Upon the rug, upon the floor
No matter the time nor what I wore
These pillows not what I’d have for bed
But in the quiet misting morning light I’d place my head
Near the embers burning fireplace’d wood
How eagerly I leap from slumber
To yawn most marvelously in public view
Did my siblings pass by? My father, mother too?
This youngest sibling, recalls empty halls
Silence, the only response to shouting calls
Weighty is the sleep, the memory of yore that so encumbers
The light no longer glistens
Each morning that I wake
To sleeping sleeper secrets shall I listen
What from them, should I take?
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.11.24
"Don't Get Dour"
It can’t always rain
If the conditions aren’t right
So know that this pain
Won’t persist pass this night
What is there to gain
When you wallow in grief
Overruling the self, so the feelings sustain
Against the tally-marked years, this moment is brief
You’ve done this before and you will do it again
Cold are the shoulders with burning hot passion
These sorrows are anything other than plain
No other soul, though, will make this admission
The clouds can’t always blot out the sun’s flickering mane
Nor the night can darken, forever, the sky
Though it may feel as though, all that is must remain
The world's better off, as a world where you try
It can’t always be sunny and bonny and blue
As the inverse, thus proven, as always – is true
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.10.24
“Mid-Step Patience"
Plath and plan and platitudes
I will not rest during this March
My stride cannot trip or fall or falter
Stubbed toes, sunburnt nose, who knows
What tomorrow will offer
Plans have been made
The machine grinds on
And I cannot cease,
Lest be caught twixt its ruthless machinations
I will become machine, I will become nature
I will become god
But I will not become rested
There is no catching tomorrow
One might sooner pluck the moon
From the starry night sky
And use it to buy a vending machine cola
Than to reach beyond today
On the tenth of march
‘Er the Ides approach
I feel the gnawing knives of time
Sink and rip and gnaw
Time and money ripped from wallet
From hand
In tandem with unblinking eyes
I cannot rest until it is done
Whatever, whomenver, however it
It must occur
And I
I am adjacent to that goal
Locked within that gaol
By any other spelling
I am swelling
Bursting, rusting – in the machinations
another year and a new cog
Will be whittled and logged
And they too will not rest
During this ceaseless trudging March
So too the lions
So too the lambs
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.9.24
“RLS”
I’m restless so I rest less
So my best is a mess
So I fess at your behest
Lest I fool some other jest
To you, I am confessed
Unless some other lass
Less than messy, fussy, hussy
Leaves me a little reminded
Of how rusty, I must be
More more or less, kiss me
To stop the jitters and the shakes
Make me idle and watch how you
Become an idol
Nothing less, that atop this piled mess
Best and lest you change your mind
Let me remind I am at beck and call
If you recall that I am restless to act
No words shall retract those jokes or jests
Confess if you will, and I will still
Love you with all my sleepless
Weepless heart
For this my darling,
Is just the start
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.8.24
"Horrid, Florid, Ordeal of Being Loved"
My heart opens, full bloom
I could gather a thousand petals at the very sight of you
Pomegranates are a bloody, challenging mess
So maybe I’m worth loving too
Whether I am fresh picked
Fallen or bruised
There is bitter sweetness worth working for
No adoration refused
So peel back each ventricle
Each pump and each beat
Take me to prairies, to valleys, to parks
For a picnic, take seat
Rosebuds and earbuds and you’re bud; I am
Budding and blooming and blossoming bright
Take all your time with me
I’ll not leave this night
Make of me a labor, a passionate task
Is this too much to ask of you? Too arduous a task?
Then on the dank and dirty ground I shall rot to feed the earth anew
@env0writes C.Buck
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Idle Steps 3.7.24
"Restless"
Bright morning grants little rise
Sore sight eyesight half opened, awake to daylights lies
Little are dawn’s surprise
Swift is ascension in the holiest of guise
Hallowed ground is dewed
Boiled away like parental patience; rude
Burning with the radiant light of bloodied feud
What future is there from what has ensued?
Give me the darkness
Before dawn breaks to make a mess
Of the firelights scattered across the skyline
Spools of thread of time, like colored twine
I am no weaver, no maker of things
But I’ll gather this light and what that brick-a-brack brings
Dawn breaks the silence with cacophonous light
Only then do we see ourselves naked, and different – and fight
@env0writes C.Buck
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