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PoeticaL MusingS
ShorT StoRiEs


Dance with your soul or a blind monkey named bubba will give you a wooden nickel not worth a dime

(one of my first forays into writing short stories/fiction)

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It was a dark night. The kind of night that makes your heart ache because all the worlds color is sleeping. I didnt intend to go there. I was driving around so I could listen to my new CD. Thats how new CDs are for me. Its rather like a baby being born and I get infatuated with hearing its loud howls screaming out into the night air.

So there I was driving to nowhere. With nothing on my mind, well not really a mind so absent of thought. Theres always something there isnt there? Sometimes its just mindless ramblings. A wise man told me once that out of madness genius lives and we should never dismiss the brains quiet ramblings.

I notice that my thoughts are slow but precise and right at the moment that I give thought to finding that ragged blue notebook that always lays on my dashand where did that Dr Grip depart to? When my car comes to a sudden stop. I try to start my car with no luck. Then Im prowling the floor of my car for my friend Nokia. Nokia always finds me help when I am lost. It is then that I realize that not only is the car needle on E but so is the battery level on my phone.

I come to the realization or did the realization come to me? Well either way I climb out of my convertible and grab my notebook, I never go anywhere without that blueness in my palm. I have to be able to write at a moments notice. After all Im going to be a famous something or other someday. And off down the road I go. The moon is missing from the sky. Yet I see my shadow on the road ahead of me. I turn around to look back towards my car, the source of the flicker of light.

The headlights are flashing and in the dance of light there he is. A peculiar man. Hes normal in every way except for his funny hat. Its a halo like golden hat. It looks like neon that would burn if you get too close. And now somehow hes holding my blue notebook in his hand. Hes humming the tune of my new CD. He begins speaking with a slight slur. I have been with you all the while. I stammer with my words, I..umwith me? He goes on Yes I am your soul and Ive crawled out to tell you that this notebook is my breath. Every time you jot down your feelings I am given another night of freedom, but I have never come to play with you until now.
I stare in wonder and I cant speak. He begins to read the lines from out of the blue in his hand. Only no words are formed. What comes out of his mouth is music. Like the lilting of a flute. He dances around and around in the glow of the headlights. The night breeze blows towards me and I feel the wetness of my own tears rolling down my face. I slowly wipe my face with the back of my hand. And as quick as my hand brushes my flesh hes gone.

I walk over and pick up the notebook and theres a new entry. And slowly I read out loud I live on ideas. Just take a number from the little red thing and sit in my line.

anD somE oF mY earlY poetrY

Art of Me

I am that picture
on a wall
If I push it crooked
Will it look tnereffid
at all
LIFE written italic
Out its frame

Turned back
looks the same


The phone rang
I looked at it
Wondered if it was you
And yet
I walked past it

Being Freely Me

Freedom of Speech
Means Bitch?
Bitch if you must
In fact I insist
Freely I say
You will
You will not chase me away
I write for me
I like me best
Freely I recite
Im always not right
Maybe I bitch
Just a pen on this wrist..
Being freely me I insist