sometimes its the little child in your ventral cavity
that overwhelmed with storms of emotion becomes
flustered & suspended in its gusts, unable to touch ground
this youngness of a heart shouts not at the person
in front of them but for relief--

a cherub's hand are as soft as your anger
so do not judge yourself for your irritation, it is the softest
part of you exposed, places you wish to control
carrying the phantoms of a hurt done long ago

gently slide your anger onto my palm
even outrage has a purpose

sometimes all the softness in the huecos
between cavities declare themselves present

You took all your negative thoughts and built a box around your head. The sky only as  high as its cardboard ceiling.


It’s time you start to tear through it. There is another world with its  pull of potential
                with its immense
positive intention
                                             waiting for you

You read about antiquity, believing it is far removed from you. When did those ancients begin to be ancient? When did the world of old end and swallow them? As you walk out your door with your children, the sidewalk is public. You step onto the park and head for the playground to let them play, and the playground is public, and so is this entire park, and so are the bathrooms and the basketball courts, public like the libraries. And just as your day winds down, you open up your phone without realizing it's a new age—your phone is a public space, too. The ancients of greece told that Medusa's blood gaves birth to Pegasus. Now, the devices of constituents surveil Pegusus into birth. When did the world of privacy end, is it in the process of swallowing us up or is it still digesting us all?

it is wild this breeze
                that leaves me       half-tossed
              on the coast
  of my hometown
today it is the clear,    sharpened
chirp
   of a
     bird
       that
        sobers          
           me to
              the world      somedays
                 it's a smile
                    hoisted by
                      a edges
                       of stranger
                        lips
                       other
                      days
                      a boundless
                    certainty
                   of being  
                  I find
               in the               confidence
          of round pebbles
next to rough granite

Dear language you hold everything in the  long expanse of your eternal unfurlment  like the cosmos always expanding

We see constellations we have named
being  pulled further apart  
How could the space among planets  feel like the space between us

we sit and look out at your star
the brightest point is still love

It is 11:00 pm and a flock of quacking ducks  break the silence of the night slicing with the tips of their wings the sky