The Art of Being Neighbors

My neighbor from upstairs
stepped out onto his balcony
at six-fifteen on Wednesday
evening
looking
like he never got up
for Wednesday-he was
up-stairs, as I said
while I, in the garden
down bellow dirt level
watering and weeding
while he, squints
in critique at his canvas
tilting it and his head-
waved with two fingers
disheveled hair
and a puffy face
at me squatting
I may (as well) be making
mud-pies-
I told him
Happy (late) Birthday!
he shrugged it off and
stammered about-
surprises, bottles and friends,
his cheeks match my
roses.
May I see-asked I,
knowing he needed an eye.
He obliged-
and it was
*magnificent*
and so-the guilty party
was forgiven.




Image of painting By Carl Geist, 1906 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Will there be cake?

Consciousness tingles, it is innuendo.
Inference must mean Independence.
Did you feel it too?
What is made is meaning,
adding weight to white.
Creativity expressed, is a calculated
release of logical liability,
lingering in anonymity.
Who knew: What it signals: Symbols
And suggestions are like trees
noticed or not
we breathe and need.

My name, like yours, I borrowed
because of its beauty
which withers when said by self.
This Time, made new for you,
an apparition, re-rapt; a peek-and-boo
solely for your special occasion.
What's inside? It is red.
Firing systematic flares in synapse, see red.
Silence is listening as loud as possible.
Aren't all words formal invitations?
-Nevermind-
We are all too busy to attend.



Image By Ministry of Information Photo Division Photographer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.