At the end of my rope, I
look down at
it all.

The forest
Opening into the meadow—

The stream gliding softly
Over a rock that’s sure
To be my favorite.

Her obsidian hair,
Swallowing the Sun—

My eyes in the mirror of
Her milky skin.

Where’s that knife!

Wind cuts through the window,
Where I sit alone,
Staring into the bumps of paint
Splashed on my wall.

The computer, in its eighth month
Of continuous operation,
Plays the voice of a stranger
Who I’ll never know.
But, gods I wish I could.

We could dance through the streets,
Feel our bodies scraping together,
Each breath in the air
carrying a bit of you into me.
Wouldn’t it be so wonderful?

Now, here we are.
Back at the computer.
Plastic and glass as the threshold.
You in your world,
And I’m just me.

Hooks in my back
Are shredding my flesh.
Stretching me in every direction.
Pulling my spirit through the holes.

Each time I try to fight,
I win back an inch,
Just to get yanked back—
With more pain than before.

Tonight is the night
Where I plan the changes
To become the person
I dream of being.

I’ll wake up tomorrow,
Leap out of bed,
Make the world my oyster,
And break my chains.

I can’t wait
Until my alarm hits,
And the cobwebs shake free.
But boy—
my bed is real comfy.

The ultimate fantasy
Is a burst of clarity.

Having it cut through brain fog,
Like sunlight through the treetops.

Opening your mind’s window,
Whose locks were painted shut.

Becoming the vision in your head,
Instead of the object in the way.

There is a sweeping wind
Blowing over the hills,
From the tips of redwoods,
Down to the sage in the valley,
Looking to blow away the dust of today,
And bring in the ash of tomorrow.

Everything is changing so fast,
And I’m just a speck of dirt,
On the foul tile floor,
Being swept into the bin.

My only hope is
To catch on a crack,
And get one more second
To soak it all in.