The Cacti Won't Serve Me Tequila Part One

There are things that are worth it. There are people to die for, and there are moments that deserve the whole of one's effort. There are times when the scales don't balance out at all, and you just go with it. Screw scales. There are things that are right. There are things that are worth it.

---

Vincent was the first one to see the new Tommy Womack. Well, there is a slight possibility that Mrs. DeVae saw him on one of her frequent peeks out into the world of the living, but one of the downsides to being a recluse is the inability to tell anyone of any perculiar findings one may happen to lay eye on. And surely animals would have had to watch the child slowly making his was towards civilization, if only for the interest in a potential feast. It's a wonder he wasn't jumped by an especially bold Diamond Currant snake or even an impatient vulture. In fact, it would be a while before anyone even had the idea to ask him where he came from or what he came out of.

As things fell, Vincent was the first to lay eyes on the long lost prodigy of Cosavo. His jeans were blown almost entirely white from the sand his bare feet currently advanced upon, but they were about the only clothes Vincent knew. Some type of cloth was draped around his midsection, but it most certainly wasn't the cotton tee that all the Cosavo brawlers sported when it got "dog hot". Tommy was also completely bald, a less than understandable change from the unkept blonde locks he had previously sported from birth. His chest, still not fully through wrestling with the tail ends of puberty, shone with sweat like just about every other part of his exposed body. And he was marching. Not the military style, arms and legs straight march, but a flawless pace nonetheless, each step overtaking exactly the same amount of distance as the previous. If he kept up, he would walk right through a stop sign and then right through Vincent.

That was, if he kept up. It is imagineable that Tommy did not forsee Penelope Kepler screaming at the top of her 12 year old lungs and Mr. Benson shouting with his 58 year old pipes that the guru looked uncannily like that Womack boy what disappeared back then, and that Stevens should stop his sweepin for just a minute to come and see. Vincent followed the sound trail as it unfolded, all the time glancing back and finding Tommy just a few paces closer, until Stevens hoisted him up with one arm and ran back into his store with Tommy so limp over his shoulder he could have been paralyzed.

Confident that no one else would be wandering out of the abyss that morning, Vincent upped his pace so that he would just be late enough to miss all the names before his own on roll call.

I Bet You Know You Don't Know

She struts,
Alone in her room,
Back and forth,
Back and forth,
Around her twin bed,
Reeling,
At the future,
There's everything she can do,
About it.
She windowshops her dreams,
On a very crowded sidewalk,
Making it happen,
Trying it on,
Bullets don't phase,
This one,
Just One.
She is BEAUTIFUL,
And I struggle,
Hoping and not believing,
Of some weakness,
That would make her need me.
Dark hair,
Life's Eyes,
And here I shuffle,
Making sand castles on everyone's beaches.

(Dedicated to Fran for calling me up out of the blue and giving me a literal need to write something new)

Look At Me I'm So Brave!

So scared,
It was for nothing,
So scared,
It will all fall through,
So,
Scared,
It will never happen at all,
So Scared,
They were all kidding,
So scared,
The crazies aren't crazy,
So scared,
This isn't a tunnel,
So scared,
It will drag,
It will drag,
It will drag,
So scared,
And doing nothing to show it.

Round 12

Raise your hand if this weekend is throwing as many punche at you as it seems to be at me. Okay, now raise your hand if you deserve them as much as me. Sorry hands.

When I Dream

The impossible,
The irrational,
Love,
Comradery,
Destiny,
All dreamt in their own times,
So much brighter,
More guilded than what,
My eyes forsee,
But closed,
There is such a thing as hope,
A singular silhouette,
Projecting,
From a top I cannot see,
But the mound,
Man,
Slumped over himself and all history,
Look (Love) above!
Look on what has overcome!
All the years,
Centuries,
Of doubt and apathy,
Unlocked only when,
Separated from his kind,
Man drifts,
Fumbles for one of the ways,
To this creature,
Dreamer of all dreams,
Down off his mound,
(For he was formed of it)
Settled in a mammoth,
Unending observatory,
Double library,
With all the pages self-authored,
Here he tells me,
Enthralled of his life,
Takes me in,
Becoming a part,
A bird,
A pirate,
Anything imaginable,
And more,
For a time,
Before the books close,
The eyes open,
Mortal once more,
Living out the day,
Till next night,
Next unending,
Ever cherished,
Dream.

Is It Time?

Faltered,
The hesitant step,
Waiting too long,
The perfect,
Simplistic burden,
Of never giving up,
Blazing a path that isn't there,
Only seeing trees,
Tall evergreens,
Traced with falling snow,
Imagine her at the edge,
Imagine everything that keeps,
Falling,
Wanting to fall with,
Finally discovering what waits at the bottom,
Broods,
Over things dreamt in a deep sleep,
Is it time to wake up?
No, not quite yet,
Reflect,
Buried in the snow,
Nothing moves,
Speaks,
Listens,
But the sky,
Crying clean,
Growing old itself,
Thin,
Forever widowed from the earth,
The expanse,
We are doomed to inhabit,
None to low,
Nor high,
Why are we allowed to be,
Alone,
To that depth,
The Optimists are waning fast with the moon,
Is it time to wake up?