Its about this time of the year when the fog feels melancholy. Sticky in the way it hugs around your fingers, and sometimes your toes. When the grey gives way to blue, and theres a breeze right aroudn midday before the sun comes in, warming your shoulders and brightening his hair.
Its right about this time of year when change sits regally on every windowsill and rooftop, reminding you that it never left, you were just fooled by the frigid frost of february covering its tracks.
Look over your shoulder, she's not there anymore. The way you left her, at the door. Its open, swinging.
And its this time of year when its spring again. And the regality of change crowns the blossoms on each branch, willowing by your doorstep. Sitting on the stoop smoking a cigarette you see the smoke, blowing in little curves to your neighbor Mani's door.
How long you'll be here, you don't know. Mani doesn't either. You both came in from the countryside, a while back expecting to find a gig singing or acting. Lately, you've both been doing that, but what you earn money for is pouring whisky and ***** and gin for people who's lives are made or lost or forgotten by whatever you give them. Sometimes it feels like you control some secret potion, like you have an elixir to share at your dispense. a secret, just like the patch of grass that lingers growing and re-growing under the february frost.
She left pretty quick- you couldn't catch her, there was no way. See you have to know that that kind of thing is coming, or get ********* lucky. But you lost her you really did. With her hair in the wind, and her eyes, so clear you could see the wind blow through them, and the sun shining rays, she used to sit on the stoop. Now that's what you've got. A pretty picture in your mind- one that's all too connected. You remember the smell the touch the heartbeat. Its all there, and it will be. It'll stay you know. She was designed for it- to break into your little shell and leave her mark, make room for herself in your life just in case the spring wasn't coming back, in case change wasn't going to slip through a hole in your pocket and fall down, down into the new york city subway to be carried and picked up and taken on odyssey upon odyssey.
You would have never known. And so, now change sits regally where she did, mocking you for having turned you into a beggar, a gypsy, a fool for little pieces of silver and gold. You begged for change, and I warned be careful what you wish for.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
Go
Down to the Sea
Tell me what you see in the sand
Tell me what you see in the sky
When I hold your hand do you feel me
My heart beat
Do you see my cold breath
Steaming in the wind
Grey
Hovering above the water
One Choice
Make it well
Do you see stars
Their reflection on the water
To write
Can be self indulgent
Like blowing steaming air in a certain shape
To delight my own eyes
But I know now
That when I have nothing left to say
When my heart feels whole
I can write about your trip to the sea
And in my words
I hope you feel
Your hand
Holding on to me
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
-Dao-
Beauty in the details. Intheplacementof spaces. In the p.o.i.n.t.s. between words.
With sense and presence, no perception, I live in truth. In a real place, not like my room, or my house, or new york. A real place, you know, like the one in your heart. The place you imagine. A real place.
Blindness veils, thoughts tear away, but when everything else quiets, I’ll get there. A real place.
Where I feel. Everything, in the palm of my hand and the beat of my heart. In the hand of a friend. In a fresh start.
Don’t prepare. Don’t obsess. Just be. Forget the rest.
There’s a sky. I promise.
There are stars and a moon.
There’s order in the world, it’s just called disorder.
Feel you’re heartbeat.
Come with me.
Don’t miss the chance to kiss the sky before you die.
Don’t ever, just get by.
Soar.
It’s all in me. Its all in you. Every molecule atom electron in the world. They move. They change. But they stay. So everything is really the same. Can you ever feel that in your heart? Sometimes I can. When I listen— sometimes I hear.
You,
your smile,
leaves blowing on the trees,
Water trickling down a stream,
Ice floating on the top.
Flowers pushing through the frost of spring,
Bloom and die, die and bloom
Come and go, go and come
Good, bad and beautiful. My heart. The world.
Stop. No-
-Dao-
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
Lovely lady of the night
Stars and you shining so bright
Do dearly show yourself to me
I cannot bear your mystery
Pale and crisp, of subdued hue
Your majesty in me, doth thoughts imbue
And nowhere on the blessed chain
Round earth will you too long remain
Deepest dankest darkness of the day
With your dark magic, never can it play
Your force too great, your pull stronger than seas
My fear at night, your brightness doth appease
And show me please your brilliance and your ore
As I to you, reveal my truest core
Of gold we both are made and one to test
Will we together be among the best
I know that to the sun you are betrothed
Unearthly marriage, yours here is ne’er exposed
The sparkle of the summer sun doth always fade
'fore you, bright one, come tumbling from its shade
All alone, you two do light my paths
One on one, in glory or in wrath
But query, I do have for one or both
If always separate why are thee betroth’d
In light in love in independence great
Each on its own doth true beauty create
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
There’s a rhythm to that song. I think I know it.
The words, I’m not so sure.
But the rhythm, that’s what counts right? That’s where the feeling is, right?
I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t have the words.
Had no idea it was coming. Had no idea what to say.
But I knew how I felt. That’s what counts right?
Sometimes I have rhythm, sometimes I’m in time.
But I wonder, were you stepping on the same foot?
Or the opposite one? The right one?
And if I was dancing alone, was I dancing at all? Or just bumbling around like a recently evolved monkey.
Dance with me now. I write, you left
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
There is a place
I know there is
Not one not many
But all and every
You can go there
I can too
Where grass is green
And skies are blue
There’s no train
Chugging churning rocking the land
No people rushing
To beat the drops of sand
Instead people fall with them
Accepting the ride
And holding hands
Swimming with the tide
Smiling
as wind blows their hair
to
and
fro
They’ve all realized that there’s nowhere to go.
And so they
smile and laugh and play
They know that
this is their only day
Sometime soon
the sun will set
The crops will dry
Only one thing will be wet
Their hearts，their mouths, their blood, their gore
But not to worry
Sometime soon
it will be no more.
Be no more they say be no more
Than what you are, that is your chore
As a living mortal
You see the paradox
Your hands wave round
like a ticking clock
But
all batteries die
and all hearts stop to beat
So know, dear child,
you only have two feet
Do what you can in all that you do
But remember dear child what you do isn’t you.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
Like all the wind that moves the seas
As time floats down
Like leaves off trees
And all the colour of black and white
The fades of eyes as dark as light
Like all the things I choose to see
So thick the air that i once breathed
With soft the touch and light as sand
As all the grains fall through my hands
But as you stare into my eyes
And reach your soul into my mind
The opposites appear and then subtract
As time starts still and white is black
You speak your voice and make it clear
To follow the truths that now appear
To make the most of what i have
Embrace the start do not look back
My blue eyed friend for now I see
The voice you speak can calm the seas
And grow the leaves back on the trees
While all the colours stay the same
The grains of sand remain in my hands
And most of all for what has changed
The fades of eyes as dark as light
The brightness subsides so I can see
The blue eyed girl in front of me
And all the words she has to speak
So thick the air that I once breathed
Is now a whisper is now a stream
Is now a smile within my dream
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
every year
is a month
that happened twelve times
every month is a week
that happened four times
every week
is a day
that happened seven times
every day is an hour
that happened twenty four
every hour
is a minute
that happened sixty times
every minute
is a second that happened.
so this second
this tiny little fleeting thing—
my dear, that’s your minute, hour, day, week, month year—
just the replay, callback, repeat buttons are a little bit stuck
so everything happens a whole bunch
but in the end its all the same
so fight
with your dear god ****** life
to make them different.
repair yourself. unstick the replay repeat callback buttons
and dont let your time be a series of play backs.
make each one a new route through the park
a new journey
to a new star
a new poem
a new sentence
lose the order of time.
you have the power to make every second different from the next
you can turn each second into an experience
a journey
a song
a rhyme
a hug
a smile
a new friend.
so dont let each year be a year
make it a scrapbook
of the world and you
a constant evolving friendship
with endless things to do.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
the lights shine bright through the night
you know when you’re in love. and the other person doesnt love you back.
when you have one of those stupid crushes
that nags at you
like an itch on the tip of your elbow
the part that you cant reach
everyone has that point
that tip on their elbow
and everyone feels that kind of love
well you know the feeling when that goes away
when you just become happy again
like a little cloud lifted and your room is clean again
the grey is gone
and you can finally smile again to yourself
and you think
standing
writing
breathing
you’re just one
and he’s just one
in this place
of so **** many
the lights shine bright through the night
and you’re all here together
and everyone is itching their elbows as best they can
but some people, for a little while, get an itch in that unlucky place
but it will pass
this too shall pass
the lights shine bright through the night
and the beat continues
people hop in cabs
people march across the bridge
people ride their bikes through blackness
delivering chicken and pizza and chinese food
and people jump on the subway
they listen to the prophets
on their way out
they go out
and party
and dance
eyes lock
numbers stain napkins
people end up in new beds
like puzzle pieces in this city
its like everyone’s doing a dance during the day
but come night fall you have to choose a place
kinda like musical chairs
but musical beds
for grown ups
and its an evil
a beautiful
a tragic
a wonderful
an endless
game.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
I walked by the playground. The little kids- reminiscent of little versions of me- were bundled in puffy parkas, scarves, gloves and hats tied under their chins so tight that their chubby cheeks poured over the bow. They can barely lift their arms. They stumble and wobble, rolling around the playground, up the pyramids and down the slides. The crisp air of a warm winter engulfs them as they think about their new friends, and how they enjoy playing tag on the playground. The kids, they’ve been there forever it seems.
Couples walk dogs. Women with curly black hair frizzing out of wrapped striped scarves, with glasses, with wrinkles. Men walking slowly behind, undistinguished, unremarkable, but peaceful nonetheless. The grey of the city pours into the park, a timeless grey filling corners that are easy to mistake as empty. Filling the cracks in the old cement all along the paths between playgrounds. Buildings stand right on the edge reminding you of where you are. Marking the minutes left you have in a playland. Soon you’ll hit the bustling streets where coats, scarves, mittens, socks mix with people walking so fast down the sidewalk in a cocktail of cold, pain, business and ambition. Sometimes cheeks flush as new lovers hold hands. Children laugh and tickle one another. But more often than not, everyone drinks the cocktail and keeps going- destinations unknown but going nonetheless.
When you’re alone you drink the cocktail, and think that you’re the only one. It makes you tell yourself to keep going, that you’ll go far. You pick some imaginary destination and push yourself towards it with all your might. Just like parents push the little bundles of pink and blue sitting on the swings at the playground.
Someday, maybe you’ll bump into someone- who will help you remember that you aren’t the only one. You aren’t the only one drinking the cocktail. And you’ll feel like maybe you can walk together, bundled now not only in your coats, but in each other. In the warmth of someone else, and the softness of their embrace.
But all too soon, one of you will trip- holding each other – one person holding on too tight, or another tripping over shoes. It’s inevitable.
There’s a bench. A bench at the intersection of three paths, one that is incredibly hard to revisit, but one that doesn’t move. It’s hard to find- at that intersection. It’s under a bridge, behind a museum, covered in shrubbery, and overcome by passersby. Under the bridge there’s a man who plays his flute. It echoes though, offering a trail of crumbs to find this place.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC