Refracted Neurons

I will no longer  be your penitence each lock, opened, each strand, freed. Some people go for that kind of thing but I have witnesses trailing down my cheeks, each tress, shortened, each hair, fallen, and I just can’t get used to the idea, that I can’t be your penitence, and like these strands of hair, you have slid through my fingers. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As far as poetry is concerned, I’ve been a bit stuck lately. I was looking for ideas to jump-start things and one was “write a poem about a haircut.” As you can imagine, my first thought was Sha Goyjo. Well, maybe you can’t imagine. I've been lagging in general on my writing, and it's not bound to get better anytime soon.  Why?  Well, let's just say it involves singing and takes me back in time a couple of decades.  I haven't tried to read sheet music in a really long time, and I've forgotten waaaaay more than I thought I had.  But I

If there’s one thing you should remember about me, it’s that I’m flat out nosy. I’m the sort of person who will stop everything to stare out the window if I think something interesting might be going on.  But you know what? I know how to city, and rule number one is: never make eye contact. So when I heard someone shouting, I just kept my eyes on where I was going and hurried into my building. For all I knew, they could have been yelling at me, and anyway, never make eye contact. There was a nice rhythm to the yelling, a little like a talk-radio type rant. The sound dissipated as I went up the stairs, held out by the awkwardly placed wooden doors. After two years of working in this building, I still don’t completely have the hang of opening a door mid-flight. By the time I reached the kitchen, I could again hear the steady stream of curses. “Wow, this guy is mad,” I mumbled to myself as I frolicked over to the windows. From here I had a birds eye view of the pate