Author: Andrew Thomas

And we are left with the words to slow down the silence. Touch me. I wish and so many wishes that seem to be left unanswered. Am I happy? Are you? I wait. Perhaps.

I visited the other day, four years ago. I am remembering it now. I had tried to start a conversation with my mother. I was 60. She was 90. I said, the woman was an actress once. My mother responded… you make those things up.

A tear stains her face. She was such a child like existence and emotionally hurt so easy. And so brutally unkindly hidden perhaps. But those are words and words are not what I am searching for. Flowers in the rain.

Apparently as a child I perceived that it would be good at this point to relearn everything. Why? To understand who I was as a kid. I have been trying to remember my past and who knows perhaps knowing yourself is exactly that.

I was wondering, he said slowly, if anyone could take us in? We were headed towards my Great Aunt’s in Burbank. I like music and I am really good. The other day we were in Stapelton, or something having to do with something or other. If the Hippies owned the 60’s; I owned the 70’s.…

My cousin had a Mouse Trap game. And Rock ’em Sock ’em Robots. My IQ was far over 156 and still is and I attended an accelerated school classroom. I had the best plastic surgeon in the state flown in from Seattle that night. My face is a blessing and so is he. In Elementary…

There was if there wasn’t, if there was a mist of a child called lightning. His eye shifted beyond the room. And his hands shattered existence and the guitar screamed like glass. I played for other wonderers who wandered past. I was a child of thirteen they called me lightning. My hands were a dream…

Perhaps the world will know peace, and the edge that drives this insanity will restore and step back from the sorrows. Perhaps Tomorrowland is around the corner with mesmerized kids and parents who see the world in the faces of their children and thank and praise God, for whom? I have always felt that the…

In the soft blush of a Michelangelo, I try to find the words. Only to find the endless depth as I rise again. You are I believe as beautiful as that birch tree locked outside the window. As the keys on the piano. As everything. I did not learn to tell time until 5th grade.…

Time, an obsession to count the moments. Saying Goodbye, one more moment to count on. And she falls in evenings’ shades. I’d rather taste the venom than live with this veil I live with. There are reasons for summer, reasons for rain. Reasons for sorrow, there are reasons for tomorrow. And she falls in amber…

I realize now. I am on Social Security and have been most of my life. Working for my father for fifteen years I traveled the country. My rental cars were sports cars, my hotel rooms were Motel 6s, My Arby’s was paid for and on the Weekends they became Prime Rib. My air fair was…

Rings challenge a forgotten voice. Water stands and cries upon the silent forgotten past. A tired moment. A second of fortunes. And a whisper of tomorrow of waking. Waking upon the street, upon the sudden forgotten moments of another tomorrow. I was once forever shall be nothing, but another apology for a missed second. A…

And a dream becomes a torment, becomes a bruise. Lightning strike. Cold black sky. A summer towards the occasional misfortune of …what is the reason for the sky? Towards the past a man opens his eyes and whispers, whispers the sharpness of a sin. Lightning strike. The table falls to the ground. One leg bends…

The word mellow? The act of suffering inside, while content. I was a child of two almost three. And then a child of four and five. I believe in believing. I believe in trying. I believe in secrets. I believe in winning. How do I tell you I love you? I believe in a season…

A world alone softened by soft hands. There was a tiger and an old man. Which is worse, the ending of another day? Or the beginning of a new one? I passed on the soft hands part and became the old man with the tabby. Why? Cause. I had things to do and reasons to…

I walk past five minutes of your life like a quiet albatross in the existence of chrome lenses. A soft shouldered Moose walking down the street… soo cool. Stiletto and heels on concrete. I give you these… we three mice… we three kittens… we three cooks… we three mathematicians. Einstein and Bohr… in a walk…