August 15, 2016 § Leave a comment

there are those days
when, 20 min. in you begin

to believe the evidence

that suggests a mistake, but
the ship has already left the slip 

with you on it

               so there it is
maybe along the way

some stratification will occur 

heavier emotion

settling out across the seabed 

of your day
the current of all the rest

swirling above

barely keeping

the rusting bulk afloat 
down in steerage 

             pressed against the throng

you have only 

fresh air and solitude

on your mind
as the ship

quite unapologetically 

steams ahead
(c) 2016 Fred Whitehead 

a blocking

August 3, 2016 § 2 Comments

    it is

as if Jupiter sticks his finger

into my frontal lobe

               to just past

               the first knuckle
   the way

a keeper of houseplants does

when determining

proper moisture content 
   and the

act of differentiating

between hum of June bugs
   and the

drum line in my skull

is becoming bothersome
trying to squint through 

gauze over

my narrative

   the muslin

over the

       window of thought 
(c) Fred Whitehead 

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