i find it, like a book finds its reader.
like the reader finds an old friend between the pages.
and the friend, their love returned in full.
and love, its givingness become relay.
and searching, its pilgrimage.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
i hold it, like roses hold on to the snow.
like the snow holds on to the cobblestones in the sky.
and the sky, its wandering light.
and light, its arrival in its absence.
and releasing, its weary seeker.
i flee from it, like time keeps fleeing from the clock.
like the clock flees from its last stop.
and the last, its living truth.
and life, its vast unnameable.
and questioning, its pallid resting place.
i forge it, like the moon forges the waves.
like the waves forge the cliff's labyrinth.
and the labyrinth, its single thread.
and the thread, its thousand fragmented words.
and dissembling, its puzzle pieces without end.
i ask it, like a sinner asks forgiveness from a God he believes dead.
like death asks of life nothing but patience.
and patience, its tender faith.
and faith, its open hand.
and answering, its fragile soliloquy.
i reveal it, like the holy spirit reveals itself to non-believers.
like belief reveals shelter from its own incompleteness.
and incompleteness, its secret freedom.
and the secret, its anonymous keeper.
and hiding, its unspeaking reply.
i seek it, like the waves seeking to return from the beach.
like the beach seeking footsteps unfading from the sand.
and footsteps, their fierce stampede.
and ferocity, its crystal shape.
and reaching, its impossible limit.
i find it, like a book finds its reader.
like the reader finds an old friend between the pages.
and a friend, their love returned in full.
and love, its givingness become relay.
and searching, its pilgrimage.
i hold it, like roses hold on to the snow.
like the snow holds on to the cobblestones in the sky.
and the sky, its wandering light.
and light, its arrival in its absence.
and releasing, its weary seeker.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
i hold it, like roses hold on to the snow.
like the snow holds on to the cobblestones in the sky.
and sky, its wandering light.
and light, its arrival in its absence.
and releasing, its weary seeker.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
often i ask of my cigarettes that
they last forever. they always answer
in ashes, smoke the moonlight slow dancer
arching out of its own transient act
as if parting came easy to creatures
that dream of eternity, and wake up
again craving its adumbration, butts
spilling out of the tray, pale these seekers
their beauty not betrayed by their briefness
but by the dream, for some things are only
enjoyed by virtue of their vanishing.
it will free if it makes time for stillness.
be patient with what is strange—there, the opening.
breathe, and know nothing but fascination.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
if you look into the essence of things
for long enough, the truth will manifest
that despite what the universe is telling you,
you don't really need that Big Mac, at best
a deep desire's unsatisfaction
is its only real redeeming feature
for its completion is its death, and worse,
your loan will not cover your expenses.
but the sacred only enters when life
is lived beyond need, and all of future
is a faded dream, with life completely
emptied of engineering, and the eye
in excess consumes the sun to suture
itself to night, so to see things frivolously.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
i was told the wind would tell me my name
that could not be spoken, so came the breeze
with secrets undeciphered through the trees
that one autumn of unheard of refrain.
but ever since that labyrinth opening
the walls have been moving and the winter
of eclipsed understanding will linger.
how briefly light comes, when you think of it—
what more could you need to transfigure a place?
the wind is coming from somewhere remarkably
far off to dance just a little with the curtain;
spring and it came all this way to caress a face.
we come from mystery and go back to mystery
and this alone we can say for certain.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 5:48 AM UTC
sometimes i cast myself back to that night
when the thing i so easily named Self
was wrenched out through the wormhole of my third eye
and all time played out, and all of being’s wealth
became desert, then black, then red, then white
and all knowledge was dust; language, a dream.
and something i’d forgotten i was arrived
somewhere i’d forgotten i’d always been
and the presence in this place i was not
one with nor not one with; all of human
categories fallen out from themselves.
impossible moment, i understood my lot:
home of the soul, visitor from sand,
given a gift: gratitude, in bottomless well.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
did you notice when the words shed their skin?
the hour was late in the idle day
and the light of significance grew dim.
at the shore, the waves compelled you to stay
and you saw, in the waves that slid away
all the ways in which you could not alter
the crash, and retreat, of waves come to claim
what was only ever borrowed from them.
be that ocean, it is asked of you, and
your wheel will keep bringing gifts to the sand.
sea and desert, two serpents coiled, two
vast multitudes, and between, some small truth
recurring. this world is a single breath
and uncounted smiles; no words for the rest.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 10:58 AM UTC
somewhere in between the outer reaches
of meaningless *** and the inner tomb
you land in after the last spinning room
of several tequila shots too many
you will discover, your vast finitude
is not everything it’s cracked up to be
and the siren songs of your hidden sea
signal the wreckage of solicitude
but everything that sinks reaches a place
where up is clearly distinguished from down;
though light receded, and breath forgotten,
something ever unaltered, if but trace,
opens the way to return to the sound
of graceful footsteps, on paths untrodden.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
consider the inner stream
all that flows in you
all you hold true and hold yourself true to
desire, fear, and dream
the words and their copula
what you want to say
and what you will leave unsaid, to keep safe
hidden phenomena
the thoughts that ebb up against
all the things you saw
the grief, despondency, and joy they cause
and their consequence
the icons sunk and swimming
time, person, sense, home
nights alone, things for which you must atone
waters shimmering
those you loved and those you lost
those you won't let go
secrets you keep, emotions you won't show
gift, fishhook, cost
a thousand different currents
are pouring through you
memories, questions, laughter, light, heat, clues
your defeats and triumphs
a thousand confluences
baptised with your name
out from every corner of life they came
and found congruence
and you were once without form
but then you opened
to let in the dancing multitude whence
came your singular course
all flow with the inner stream
finds its source without
and all that flows would flow back out, no doubt
desire, fear, and dream
—
if ever you are lost
follow the stream
it begins with opening
and leads to the unknownness
that you didn't know you were looking for
all along
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 8:59 AM UTC