American history

life is a line in our analyzing eyes
A leading to B without bend or break
only carefully calculated curves allowing
a chance for a change of course
because we believe we hold control
of pathways we've paved over the past
refusing to believe in a reality
that can't conform to our conceptions
of straight-edged explanations
from mechanically molded minds

taste aversion

memory can make itself a bit of a menace
when your mouth remembers more than meals
and moments after can alter your appetite
like an illusion of an aftertaste unwanted
caused by connections made unconsciously
but ever effective nevertheless
to remind your mind of the illness
affected by your former favorite food.

haiku #28

i had an ice cube
i was trying to save it
now i have water

closing credits

i want to watch the miles pass beneath my feet
feeling fresh air silken sheets against my face
running under cliché clouds and symbolic sun
straight off silver screen and into newborn night
not because i believe in a certain satisfaction
or happy ending heroes going home glorious
while choreographed conquests ask questions
left unanswered by assumptions of immature
or perhaps just quietly content pedestrians
who can quickly forget the fleeting remains
of final frames while names make a way
across the screen and off the pageless plains
leaving only a lack of color in their wake
masquerading as night when in reality
they've given birth to the breaking of day.

memories like melodies

faces stay familiar, somewhat similar
to the way favorite songs forever play
and even after long seasons of silence
the rhythm remains in your ears, intact
needing just a few notes to bring it back.

every note is harmony

harmony between notes played on piano keys
making more than gray of white and black
with magic not from notes or nimble fingers
but in the heart behind the hands at work
and the mind combining more than notes
though there would be no chords created
without the work of another artist
whose hands assembled hammers and strings.