Connection is not made by drawing hard lines in the sand
We can only draw off of the blurred relections that bounce the water's surface
And we suppose the cause
We guess
We estimate the source that is reflected
Based on our own reflection
It's true, I have never walked in your shoes
But don't exasperate all ignorance to believe for a single iota of time you have walked in mine
So, where do we go from here?
At what point across the increased expanse can we build a bridge?
Believe it will be worth the effort
All good in history has started this way

jump inside the lavish paints
the american southwest
with scenes from first and final
and vision impetus

here all gaining is gained by loss
starting with sacreds held dear
first minutes and the hours
then all the years, then fears

long open soliloquy
lost in expanse of sky
exerts from creative souls
absorbing desert dry

Beauty comes suddenly, cleanly
when the thing comes at all
for unpursued and dimly lit
zipping boundless or small

evasive as an arctic dawn
under an unturned rock
echoing all senses at once
if recognized or not

its grandeur through stories to heirs
that echo manifests
its rhythm, bearing, and function
wise to youth, wise near death

Beauty's power, intangible
a high altitude hawk
unspoken in its reflection
unseen, or quickly lost

Forget not to one day die
First cognizance, first know
Penetrating place and pace
Go go go...and...then...go

Rumored shores tickle all fears
But further petting hope
Causality disbelief
Antediluvian cope

Gifts from departing you must give
Should include beauty's fold
All that all can give must be
Leaving back less untold

Don't shy to artistic next
Because of it's unknown
Abate not long echo reign
Unable to postpone

crazy, but that's how it goes
millions of people living as foes
maybe it's not too late
to learn how to love
and forget how to hate
mental wounds not healing
life's a bitter shame
I'm going off the rails on a crazy train

Don't, for a second,
Believe your familiarity equal
To the obsessed appreciator
Because you studied the author
Or painter, in school
How vague the prefrontal cortex, the memorization of Wikipedia (or generation Encyclopedia Britannica) or MFA syllabus bullet points
Focused on the minute details of joyful
Operatic beauty personification were you?
Or the mark delivered by a professor
The essay, the test?
Or the cute one in the class?
Or the one which your over-achieving spirit must compete?
Brilliance discovered in work you GET  outside of such demands is a stark difference indeed

i heard that
the supreme compliment or gift
is one's attention
and tonight's moonrise broadcast
has mine -
(and the coyotes)
completely

I went to the Bookstore today
    (can't do tablets or laptops
    when smoking cigars
    and
    ...also hate tv...don't like
    the way it makes me feel
    or other people look)
In downtown Boulder, Colo
Which, if you've never been
Displays fresh prints of Dave Eggers
And Edward Abbey
    In an 1899 erected structure
        That formerly hosted
            Ballroom dances
                Orchestras
                    And secret societies
It's not Powells in Portland, Ore
    (old school state abbreviations...
    deal with it)
But it's better for me
    Because I'm here
And it was a beautiful day
Even after losing at chess
    to a brilliant fool
    just outside
I couldn't help myself
    From browsing the poetry section
        In its entirety
(Only here for the $3.75 copy of the Poetry Foundation's monthly)
And I noticed an increase
    In fresh copies of Hafiz
    Same for Bukowski
    And Ginsberg
Keats was nowhere to be found
Typically, Shakespeare, Whitman,
    Wordsworth...are everywhere
I wondered if the American compilation
    by Garrison Keillor
    is worhwhile
There were dozens
    And dozens
        Of masters
            That I have not spent time with
Not "spent time"
Perhaps read a bit
    But not, connected with enough
    that I could say...I got it
    Not a fully aligned get
    But an education
        And appreciation
            To one who has pushed the craft
            in their own way
Or left me weeping
    at brilliance of love and language
But I resisted said temptation
    Of rampant reckless bookbuying
        And got my magazine
But on my drive home
    In the far East reaches of the county
        (Boulder's real estate no longer
        grants us commons much access)
    I stopped at tiny used book shop
        Bought an old copy of
            D. H. Lawrence poetry
                for a few bucks
And by the time I got home
To take inventory of tea
    Of coffee
        Of wine and cigars

I was rather pleased
    Pleased with myself
For I looked forward
    To the read
        To the sky
        To living soul free
            Once again

Life truth lies in subtle realms
As the smallest streams story
    Is never straight
Flames and streams bend with ease
The cleansing part is both reflect
    Our soul's intent
It is the curve that holds beauty
It is the bump we desire
And all are capable sirens
After acquiring the flexion
    Of the old celestial song

what are beats and breaths for
other than to address
the enormous storm
inspiration itself
rattling the door

fresh ratlings, rather
past imitation of old masters -
(warm blankets)
    and quiet shores

my voice wasn’t whispered to me
I didn’t learn to think from the professor of moby ****
I hit my head on saint paul’s contentment
upended in reflection
hours upon hours taking in the sky
and more hours
cerulean shaded ethereal hum-glow
to the duration of substance
until discernment was properly cut through
like forgetting unimportant events
until I was surrounded by gifts
no longer standing at an entryway
but spinning and somersaulting in the waves

ignorance is not bliss nor kiss
interest charts a new course
sanctioned preceded expansion
infinity’s deep heart

diatribes of desperation
too wonderful for job
standing on shoulders of giants
visibility ‘n hope

Stand on letdown point
And check out the view
Can you see beyond it?
Those that can seem few

I hoped you would be one
Seeing impermanent shores
Able to speak of the possible
But you've left me here once more

resentment looks bad on you
as does calamitous offense
zealous to justice, you cried "unfair!"
but comparison
    is the thief of joy
    the consistant producer of noxious suffering
remember laughing cares off
so hard you forgot
    the details of the offenses
releasing the mind to behave like a...
school-boy, approaching heaps of raked leaves

Curious of the universe?
Saturn's rings?
Multitude of galaxies?

Do thoughts increase?
Increaing through a lifetime
All lifetimes

Miniscule photons
Horton's Universes heard
In every thumb

The soul exposing immobilization
Of a nurturing lover
In new found aesthetic beauty

Sensation of diving in water
But not water, something more
Awake from the modern dream

Visibility past these five minutes
Crippled not by fear
Crippled not by remorse

Inertia of the turn
Increasing past miraculous
Increasing past mortal language

Beats of heart-drums
    Do more than once thought
Rhythm of air into lungs
Feeling of the earth on bare feet
Birds singing you to wake

See, dear, see

With a background track of
Still cool desert air
I am capable
Despite hopeless rhetoric waves
To focus on an image of prominence
Receive, I can, this moment
My skin seems to appreciate
The cloudless desert bathing
New Mexican green chili
Digests slowly in euphoric pulses
An ecstasy in newness
An esthetic level of interest
Opening its petals to a sunrise
But the sun has set
Lost track of time
I'm not usually up at this hour
Lost track of tomorrow's worry
Not even sure what it was or for
Laid before me in stark clarity
Secret cosmic powers to the best imagination sources
Indeed, the essential novelty of it all
Primative forces that foretell
A forgotten language
I know intimately
Only given to the subscribers
Of the magnificent
    graceful rə-ˌzē-ˈstän(t)s
To shackles, or any limits
To the most boundless breaths
All friends at the mountaintop
All love on dirt streets
All simple
All art
Life is Beautiful
It's not over
It has returned in Enormity

more the same
we were and are
then any difference
struggle or scar

there is no them
only us
can't bomb ourselves
enough - enough -

needs demanded
second to free
forgive and love
listen and see

suicidal subsides
to hope made clear
the great let go
facing all fear

friends, happiness must come solely from generosity
what else fills the cup that floods the soul?
what else breaks habitual self-focused hysteria of selfishness and greed?
and vows not to perpetuate a small view of oneself, and others?
what else?

The universe can best be heard
Through ears that hug tired grins
In an alpine trek’s midday doze
Drenching deep gratified skin
Here whispered wares can wish for loss
Echoing down snowmelt creeks
With mouse, rock and wildest flower
Sound the ethers, stars and peaks

cage match between
excitement
    and sense of place
clothed in atmosphere
wrapped in the ***** I feel, I feel
sensation - wonderfully dizzying
in the gentle rocking of mother universe
the evening waves
the off-color tall grasses leaning back and forth
sipping a drink-drink
lined with the salt of the earth
permeating cells
toxins in body and mind start to leave
shoulders relax to softer tones
posture realigns to beauty

the mysterious roar of colorado winter winds
shhhh-es through wool fibers of your beanie
providing deafness to all other sounds
ill-suited as anything
other than the predominant sensation
it is
indescribable nothingness and purity
upending curbside trash receptacles
creating ice walls of former snowfalls
and tears in the eyes of you and your dog
smeared cloud formations set against
the ethereal cerulean hum-glow clearings
cutting its perspective
into a day’s agenda
and while taking refuge
in robust shelters
it howls out reminders of its presence

.
Solitary voyages
With capacity's charge
Whisper each confidant's song
These messages, not far

There's people always with us
They're conversation's voice
What's read, echoed, repeated
Is motive over noise

And rather than giving creed
To that which smiles the most
Gale forced regret blows the stern
Return of ancient ghost

The lone muzzle for the beast
Which fogs entire seas
To entertain love, beauty
With freedom where you please

a gentle, timid, quiet soul
held back in unknown chains
many years a dormant stirring
boiled-over passion remains

then a swift break - glass ceilings down!
observing ancient law
society errs in naming most
she conjured her wild claws

I could settle for cups of Folgers
Self picked dandelion tea
And PBR
In exchange for more time
    with soft sunsets

Sacred weight to some known names
Warming glows, beyond quick flames
The path's finds are mostly lost
Blankets protecting the sudden frost

Recalling a botched conversation
Is the worst
It's calling up witnesses
Directly to your brain
Enabling the 3D film to begin looping
In every failing, torturous detail

But the larger loss
Which is somehow known
    to only your stomach
Is where the conversation
    could have ended -
With two souls
Momentarily hitting the same beats
Increasingly less alone
Echoing unifying cadences
Together
Understanding
Reinforcing -
And enflaming the heart
Inside both rib cages

And instead
It's two beings
Who can't even hear each other
From the other shoreline

awaking in the middle
of an early walk
it matters not
what I do today
it matters not
if any thing matters perennially
in intent or outcome
worth not a while -
for the leaves golden
just below
an autumn september expanse
of still steel light
and my lungs get filled
to capacity with life itself
three strides - in inhale
exceeding walking meditation -
walking rumination
meager wisdom illume
that today's matters
are too wonderful for me to understand
and so
I understand it all
competently, completely
as the bishop knew jean valjean
as the universe knows a seed
with each abeyant breath

Brood to face the fear
Chief restrainer of create
To work that matters more
Dual directors of all fate

Both exchanges guide
To the very steps that lead
Potential’s portion pours
An opulent elixir bleed

Unknowing is birth of wisdom
Better to abstain from judge
Most inceptions are so certain
Then collapse after a nudge

Notch and notch we need knocked down
We right and proud with funds
Comfort grown in chiseled mirrors
Till all - withdrawal - that comes

Prostitutes meet messiahs
And cast offs tend their friends
The high and mighty turn goats
Most alone at the ends

Pained eyes in worn jeans with holes
Are souls that bare torn seams
We the broken down machines!
We the broken down dreams!

sitting in my crowded shop
line is near the door

the coffee, doing nothing for me
and I write the words,

“going slow, not always careful
fast isn't always that rash
there are breaths which are not wasted
when put to life before ash”

and

the meter and rhyme is
    ripped from emily dickinson
    ripped from her childhood choir’s rendition of amazing grace
    ripped from old anglo-saxson pubs
    ripped from chaucer’s friends
        roman soldiers
            or who the hell knows

but…

i'm not sure what those lines are echoing
because I’m so freakin' exhausted
wow, this week…
I didn't sleep well
and haven't slept well for some time
but who can sleep well at a time like this?
there is so much to learn
so much to live for
so many sunrises to take in

ya, that’s the truth

and maybe that’s what those lines are
as my thoughts begin catching up to my hand
and maybe others will see what I see
either way, I got a few words out
bring on the day

the general sits in the corner
he did not go to their alma mater
sipping his latte
reading hemingway for the first time
wearing jeans and button downs and
cowboy boots
enjoying the drink and
wishing he was elsewhere

the building is corporate
offices
assigned parking
subaru, audi, tesla
I'm at the attached deli
staring out the window
sitting on a bar stool
sipping icy high fructose corn syrup
and the delicounter guy grows in eternal frustration, with no one to answer his primordial scream,
"number 54 buffalo wrap!"
I read headines on my phone
about nothing substantial
someone is choosing their words carefully while bringing up doug's proposal
just over the music volume
its all pop
all treble
unable to reverberate the bass
or the ethers
can this even be called music?
its sad noise
yet there is something at stake here
inflated egos
**** eating grins
and where the hell have you been

A friend just survived
A terrific storm
Of great loss
It would not let up
Nor let her out
For months
    and months

And once subsided
Her mother
Then her father
    were lost

And her heart
Split
And some rawness came out
And some of what she was
    lost too

Perhaps that part will come back
But it's not so important
Because she now stands
As only one can stand
Who has looked this terrific storm
    in the eye
Who has ridden out such a storm
Who has seen
    The beast
But she still stands
Yes, she still stands

And the earth should know
It now has
A woman of terrific power
And terrific knowing
Walking on it

Grab a pint and sit with me
Tell me what you thought
While reading that short Hemingway
Or that sad one from Frost

Did you follow, or were you lost?
Do you care, or fell more blah?
What exactly did you see?
Did life reveal in raw?

How important is this art
But much more valued shared
Even if we don't agree
Together we rip the veil

Roll the dice and get naked
Expose a bit of you
Release your passion failed dreams
Over a drink or two

Of profit more ones that aren't
Over the ones that are
Success dams affable souls
That pour true tales of scars

eighteenth century basement pub
a scot's alliance grew
with titanic thirst for fear's end
each rabbit hole they flew

intent on custom prison break
union drop'd from revel
no suffering o' comparison
in truth, all, on the level

so it was and endures today
for those with woken heads
who cast off cares of aversion
for soul’s empathy instead

The heartbreaking parts
To Hemingway
Are finishing all his books

modernity's cost
synonymous with loss -
moral bits of sanity
filled with hyper-vanity
cured solely with long droughts
between button pushing bouts
to clarity kept
    to steps and depths

Love fills everything
But small failure
Blinds me to it

perspective lost in current caste
fractured scenes through warped glass?
vertigo pools below highest dives
grass' color, either side?
dear friends who turn and wound
mirages of heros and majority rule?

Today
Is simply
Too magnificent
And beauty-filled
To feel as low, as I do

Is it
That I viewed
Some flawed fool
Capable of holding my gold
Trust sold cheap, a painful rue

Or the
Simple truth
Perhaps, I am
The mercurial shift
Along with the sands and infinity too

Or that
I've been blind
To said beauty's bound
An ample and abundant spread
Amongst the slews of trivial miscues

Likely
I avoid
Freedom's siren ring
For familiar's amenity chains
Electing convenience over break-through

with a disposition of see-both-sides
you carry enormous doubt
that a single soul shares
the immensity of feeling
towards this morning's joined
moon-and-sun-rise

while also knowingly-free
from lessons learned
from childhood whisperings
from connection with stars
from rationale conclusion
this to not-to-be

There's a dude
I talk to
Every time I buy a bottle of
Something good
    Chateauneuf du pape
    Topshelf Japanese whiskey
    Rare Spätburgunder
Not even Hemingway
    Or his characters
        Would dare open these alone
So I make arrangements
With the dude
And we drink slow
    While many others
        Circle around
            Come and go
And we drink it all
    With silent smiles
        While others tell tales
    
And there's a secret pact made
Each time
That we are the only ones
Tasting artist perfection

While all others
Seem to just taste
'Drink'

To the mothers pouring coffee
On mother's day
    In to-go cups
Handing them to half-awake dads
    Who take it to their co-parent
Still asleep
In between satin, down
    and flannel king size ambien sheets

To the mothers, who reason
This holiday to be their last
Summoning ancient strength
Yet again, at the end
    For their own

To the mothers
Who made plenty of mistakes
Who let their kids down
And somehow
Someway
Have swallowed all pride
To do their best, now

Thank you

This life-sacrifice IS seen
But is too often, too heavy
And holy
And sacred a thing
To speak about

pensively breathe
as the breeze - pleases -
subtle dancing summer leaves
of the mother, a ritual
call out the soul
from dna truths
drop tribal rue
back to air to lung to soothe