Uphill to where?

I’m having a hard time
Believing
In a civilized world.
Conflicting hues of truth,
Words twisted and turned,
Tinted spectacles shaping our world.
I jump on trains
To nowhere in particular,
Rattled to sleep.
The stops jar
The silence in my head.
In the end
Nothing really matters,
No one made a difference.
This ladder never ends
And the ocean’s sleeping in.

The Drifter

You don’t really see me
Who I am
Who I was
Who I will one day be.

You see only
Holes in my shoes
Frays in my coat
Dirt beneath my nails.

But today I have
Coins in my pocket
Food in my belly
Freedom to walk away.

No worries on my mind.
Today, I’m good.

Bear with me…

I’m feeling my way around this new website…hoping just not to f*** it up too badly! For a trial run, I added a short story, written on the way home from the store this afternoon. Check it out below – The Canned Goods Aisle. Would somebody try leaving me a message so I can see how that cr*p works too? Thank you to any unknown souls who venture this way! -jad

The Canned Goods Aisle

“So, I fell in love today – “

“OMG! OMG! OMG!…”

I give my best friend the death stare. “Shut up if you want to hear the story.” She subsides, so on we go.

“I met this guy in the grocery store. Wait, I shouldn’t say ‘guy’, rather should say ‘man, whoa!’ He’s like 6’1”, broad shoulders dropping down into a trim waist. The rugged and sturdy type. He’s wearing super faded Levi’s, red-tab and all, tight at the thigh because, well, you just think on that. Brown-skinned muscular arms drop out of a white t-shirt.

I live in a very small town, and I have never seen this man before.

He’s walking toward produce, no cart, but he’s got a list. I stop my cart and watch him walk away. I have to pause, for reflection. I drink in the way his ass creases those Levi’s as he walks. I follow.

He tucks a head of lettuce under one arm causing rippling of said arm’s muscles. Some involuntary noise escapes me. I narrowly avoid detection when he turns to discover the cause of the weak groan. I casually put two tomatoes in my cart. These are not on my list.

We continue through the pattern of the store. He tucks a few more items into the crook of his arm. I find a few on my list as I follow, hoping I can maintain the illusion that it’s totally coincidental that I’m never more than fifteen feet behind him. He turns a corner and I lose him. I panic until my nose picks up the scent of his cologne two aisles over.

Canned goods. He’s struggling a bit adding a third can of soup to his burden and drops one. Conveniently, it rolls to my feet. Sweet! I pick it up and as I hand it to him, I find myself staring into dark brown eyes set in a handsome chiseled face, strong jaw and accentuated cheekbones, and OMG those deep brown eyes. OMG.

In a deep, gravelly voice, you know the kind you can feel caress your skin as he speaks? he says, “Thank you.”

I just smile, utterly stunned.

“You dropped your list,” he said. He hands it to me.

I barely recover my tongue in time to say, “Oh, Thank you,” before he saunters off toward the check-outs.”

I pause in my story to look at my friend. She’s hanging on my every word and now looks at me expectantly. “What? That’s it? Come on!”

I just smile, milking it for a minute. “It wasn’t my list he handed to me. It was his phone number.”