Light lengthens as you spin upon my thoughts
Blinding my darkness as you whirl like a top
As if the sun had settled on you
Scandalously running from the sky
“Doom” The phrase, raving men of the world scream in rants
The same phrase oozed from the sap of plants
And echoed as well from all animal's pitiful pants
For not a single ray stayed to shimmer

Did you know
you can dance
even when you're sad?

It may seem inappropriate
to shake your hips
while your heart is exploding
But I swear-
some of my best dances
I did with my heart in a sling
and my soul in a cast.

Draw an invisible circle on any surface,
turn up music that flies in the face of your sorrow
and give it up to the sky

The worst that will happen?
you'll break a sweat
The best?
try it for yourself
moonwalk through your despair
and get back to me.

Dance.
Even when you're sad.

There are no more bad days.
There are moments
          of ingratitude
          of rage
          of self-pity
          of hatred.
Those do not last.
There are
          friends
          family
          caregivers
          kind strangers.
These are evergreens.
Bad moments need not
become bad days.
The song of life
plays on between them.

Does your darkness forecast shadows,
A high noon noose hangs from the gallows,
Feel the sharks circling shallow,
Swim fast, I'm bleeding.

Peripheral landscapes drape your gilded chatter,
Purple & pink horizons, summon laughter,
Your eyes blink lightning speed patterns,
My clouds follow, miles per hour.

What in this wide world changes,
Can we live high on mountainsides,
Open our door to the strangers,
Surrender to the ocean tides.


~My palette craves color,
     Your canvas seeks attention,
       My callused fingers are covered,
          When your callous words are mentioned.

A women boarded the same subway stop as me today.
She wore a white, flowing shawl with tiny purple flowers on it
that stretched down to her knees.
She reminded me of my childhood and of my mother in her thirties.
She held a grocery bag with daffodils in it,
and I felt she was something rather special.

Perhaps we had been joined in each other's lives
for these fifteen minutes,
for some strange reason,
much unbeknownst to the two of us.
I tried to figure it out,
but ran out of time,
and as we emerged from the station,
she walked north,
and I went east.
Maybe I'll never know.
Maybe she was just a woman
with a white shawl and purple flowers.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.