Love is a quiet whisper
In a small, cold tent
On the side of a vast forest
As the sun breaks over the tops of the trees
And spills itself in pools between
Love is a joyous shout
From the top of a tall peak
At the edge of the eternal, hungry ocean
As the sun falls below the water's edge
And the sky is all purples and velvety blues
Slowly punctured by the gold-green light of
Love is hands held in the backseat of the bus
Or against the hard, uncomforting metal and plastic of this worn hospital chair.
Love is whatever love chooses to be.
And as they salty, cold tears slide down my face,
Rough and excema-ridden in this weather,
I am glad that I still know
What love is.
Can't sleep so I
Check my Facebook,
See the little Capitol Building icon
In the news feed box
And I press it with my finger.
No loading bar,
And for a wild second I think,
"Even Facebook has given up on trying to
Make sense of American politics."
And then it loads.
Wouldn't it be nice,
I thought today.
Wouldn't it be nice
to shelve my worries,
In the manner of shelving bad books;
Poor prose, hackneyed hooks,
sold to Rome but the Romans won't look,
Yeah, that's a good metaphor for what I think about,
my dearest Society.
And then I saw that I could stop
And let my observations drop
To sit and drain into the earth
So that I have nothing to rehearse.
On the day or the days that I
Find love not written in the sky
But singing in the bubble-pop
Of brief awareness, before all's lost,
This is how eternity feels.
But eternity ends before it begins
For a soul reused, recycled, made
Bare by mechanical-biological sins.
And your soul must be like mine,
I think with the fire of a desperate, jealous lover
How could it not be? I can tell by
The way that you smother,
And your mother,
Who sent me messages in my dreams,
Still tells you
When you drink to me.
So here here,
Is a toast,
To the open, balding sea,
May it swallow up you
And may it swallow up me.
I'm usually pretty good at deflecting those gray-sky feelings,
But today I reflected them, and they really left me reeling
Because there ain't no party like a pity party,
And a pity party don't stop.
It just fades,
Unlike these feelings I have, feelings
For a man who makes my pulse quicken
But my heart ache,
And before I go on about heartbreak,
Pity party don't stop.
It just whispers,
Strange and terrible little things,
Or long and loud screams of dissent,
It'll never be about you. It'll never be about me.
I watched a guy I like walk out with a girl who walks out with everyone.
I watched the balls of trash sink into the rot of garbage in my mother's living room.
I watched a truely wonderful woman cry because of a young woman's undue scorn.
I watched a good friend cough until his face was red, and his legs were wobbly. I watched him retch.
I watched the food in my fridge slowly rot, untouched.
Waiting for the two ten hour shifts
And two nine hour shifts
And the paycheck which means rent
And I'm sitting in this black cloth chair
Playing a game about survival
And feeling like I can't wait to survive
The next two months
And then the next year
Praying to any God that might listen
That I might live for the next ten, maybe even twenty years,
And learn all the things I've patiently been waiting
So happy thanksgiving,
I am thankful to be alive,
But damn it,
No where vast is there true peace,
As our nation briefly rejoices in one another,
Before waking up yet again to
Karma rolls around
You probably have not slaughtered any indengionous people with your own born hands
But your genetics probably have,
In some fashion,
Along the way.
This turkey day,
I urge you to rebel,
And celebrate now,
While remembering the warning screaming
We have only this,
The stewardship of nature and human empathy,
Don't let them take it away.