I melt into a spool of dread
I mean pool of thread
I mean this dread, like thread,
was a neat spool and now it's a puddle
my noodle is muddled

let's try this again
my thoughts were neat, a spool of thread
but they unspun and tangled, a pool of dread
and the metaphors are lost in my head
which is also a noodle

if I take this needle
and untangle the thread
it may help wrangle my thoughts
and unstrangle my heart

sometimes I long to know the meaning of life
to know if I must choose my meaning or if it's inevitability will somehow manifest in meaningful ways
sometimes I wonder if God is part artist and part practical accountant
frustrated and creative and stifled by I don't know what
or content to crunch the digits and let the sequence unfold to a beautiful resolution

generally the church tells us our maturity can only be developed in community
but Jesus always retreated to be alone, to talk to God, to talk to himself
what does it tell us, that he died for his creation out of some kind of unconditional love
but that he also needed to connect to his higher power to make that sacrifice
that while asking for the prayers of his friends, he wanted to be alone with the part of himself that knew the plan
I wonder if my spiritual self knows the plan that my body does not want to follow out

and that while he already knew the plan he would ask himself to not have to do it
for there to be any other way without suffering
isn't that what we all ask God
if there's a better way, one without having to suffer and self-sacrifice
and even God had to lead by example, by sacrificing a part of himself to be mortal

it feels like a horcrux perhaps, having a child
a part of you that you cut out of yourself and that exists vulnerable to external forces
a part you can be separated from by governments and space and death and miscommunication
like separating our spirit from our flesh

I long to create and yet cannot be satisfied
I suppose that's why to love our creations we must learn to love ourselves
even if our artwork doesn't look like we want it to
even if it kills and lies and steals and is corrupted by some flaw
if it can choose not to love us

it's all too complex to lay out like a map
why create beings to love you and share in your life
why have disciples when you are three in one

to understand why we sleep
if it is an illustration of some kind of awakening
to prepare us to wake after death which is so similar

I can't describe how meaty and empty it is when someone is no longer home
when they've moved away
and their body is solid and cold and yet still looks a lot like them

I don't believe the point is to proselytize
As in go about trying to change everyone to believe the exact same thing
I think Cubism is helpful as ugly and distorted as it appears
That it carries some truth that we all have validity in our different experiences
In the different ways we've colored our memories with feelings and interpretations
I wouldn't want to steal that from anyone
Or try to invalidate it

I don't think any of us have the truth except perhaps someone who is everywhere and everywhen
and maybe like the elephant or unitarianists it will all come into picture

"each must be fully convinced in their own mind"

in that way, perhaps my meaning both matters and is overruled by some larger meaning
perhaps it is a colorful piece of glass in a larger mosaic
perhaps our broken experiences will be made better than before

I never thought of myself as much of an optimist
I've actually been told I'm quite dark

but I suppose I do have faith
faith that there is an artist who will call things into account
that we won't be abandoned half baked
that those who seek will be rewarded

Skin, soft and fragile as marigold petals
Bones thin as papier-mâché
Holding the shape of a person I love
Holding together our bodies of clay

Candles, dimming light behind the eyes
Weary wind slipping through parched lips
Sweet and weak the voice of a person I love
Spirit readying voyage on vanishing ships

Did not God want to be cherished
to cultivate and co-create
but instead we consume
like beautiful glowing fire
and maybe the ashes will make something
but dust to dust we are

maybe to burn is to live
like stars can fuel planets
is it distant passion or suffering
at least brief life flickers warm

time alone seems so expansive and cold
and eternity, as a dark vacuum that no fire can touch
is it better to suffer and live
or do you envy the crushing quiet of nonexistence

a speck of dust on a clover can't see where it's blowing
but somehow red light tells us that distance is growing

if human is dust
are we not a literal residue of some combustion
were then the Universe and God having tea together and laughing about us
And when people talk about them fighting
Are the two mistaken for each other?

at some queer second
         not quite between twelve and twelve
                    blue planet dust particles dream
                                suspend midair
                                 while sunbeams dance
                        across minute hands
                   in your eyes

            **** carpet melts into lush
       dark grass
      and azure electric runs across petals
         of daisies dipped in glass

                 air swims carelessly about in a tropical heat
                          and shimmers curiously like
                                  glitter in rain or
                                        paint splattered koi
                                                beneath oil spills

                                                   you stand at the
                                                      precipice to purple
                                                   infinity
                                       and curiously ask the darkness
                            "what time it might be"

                   soft words of loved ones
echo faintly in distance

       overhead
                    copper willows generously sprout
                         industrial light-bulbs

I refuse to be
Persephone
I escape brooding moods
And the reflections of souls dead to you
To accept a pomegranate seed or two
From the underworld was a mistake
I will not pay for
And I do not expect anyone to save me

I cry that your world is so dark
you believe the light inside me is deception
the seasons will come around again
and I will not return
your soil is too damp and oppressive
for any healthy sprout to grow
and your richness and grandeur
too gloomily cast

Familiar with the voice of dismal
and disdain,

I will not be restrained
I will not be abducted
I will not be compliant
I will not forget my life in the sun
I will not be isolated
and
I will not be afraid of gathering flowers

silhouettes running down brick walls like

flashfloods clinging to ***** mascara
where starstruck children run in mud
call me the eve of original sin
for the things I have seen and the places I've been

for ridges of ink etched in landscapes of skin
for heartbeats in hoodies saying lest we forget

in the valley of the shadow of death
they rest with hands crossed over their chests

I want to hold onto you in the pulse of morning
In between youth and old age,
That flash of golden sun pouring through the shutters
When the world softly begins to hum
Before we need to face the day

I want to dance that last dance with you
Before the lights turn off and music haunts the silent air
Before they close the doors

You take me by the heart before you hold my hand
Just by opening your eyes
Thank you for seeing me as no one else does
For recognizing the colors of my spirit
For always saying I love you without side effects and without small print
You are honest to goodness, honest goodness
And I want to bother you every second of every day
As long as my life keeps playing

[record spinning]
"I love you in the morning and in the afternoon
I love you in the evening and underneath the moon"
[bump and static]

Am I chasing the sun
Or running away from shadows
I'll never tell him I loved him
So I can stay friends with the dead
But I'll leave my home and religion
To love another

Please don't ask me to leave you
Don't ask me to turn back
Where you go, I will go also
Where you stay, I will stay
Your family will be my family
Your God my God

They're playing the
Old songs just like they used to
watch the Dance Queen she takes the floor
She's rocking a mom sweater
shaking it all like an 8.9 earthquake in Chile
and no one can stop her

I like just want the big picture
float me faster through this sparkling void
I get tired of the same scenery

Bulbous eyes and gaping mouth see splayed flesh
Served on rice with wasabi, bodies naked and fresh
Bash my glass brimming with koi fish swimming
"Am I WINNING?!" he screamed so drunk on saki, a wok he'd
Swept off the counter, I floundered
And so spying asked "Why are you crying?"
Because the waitress with plaited hair quit last week?
Because you're short on rent and you're all out of drink?
Well so am I PUT ME BACK IN THE WATER!
The fodder that expects me to
Always look pretty.

Love blossoms in a thousand colors
It buds in our hearts and blooms in gestures of kindess
Petals that softly caress away tears
Envelope us in fragrance, the sweet embrace of loved ones lost

Humanity burns in six billion candles
Melting wax day by day, warming the world
So many snuffed out before their time
Some still living-dead, burnt out of compassion

A little boy asks what use are flowers and candles
They are gestures of love and humanity
Which do actually protect us from violence

we endure in these infinities stretched microscopic
where time and memory wander off topic
until even our stories done slipped into stardust
and blow away in foreign winds

trying to sail to a home that may no longer exist
the pulse of a heart in the curve of your wrist
but the only green thing I see is a sea filled with salt
they deny you your pain and say its your fault

when there’s a set back I step back and see past myself
standing on grand canyons only to think its a shelf
have you health and peace or a will to live?
I am only free when I fight and forgive.

my home is welcome all my own go foreclose the banks so dance I yell bang pots and pans play christmas music in july forget using coasters eat all the food fry marshmallows with candle lighters set off smoke detector and no one knows no landlord can find no obligation to make the bed vacuum talk in the hallway put earplugs answer the phone can I yes come go as I please never a tagalong never pretend I don't live there I will be too honest and turn off the lights I will never be quiet I will jump on the couch cushions and bounce on the bed blow bubbles in tea and make a huge mess I can have anyone over whenever I like or no one at all I will never be careful. And in my house I don't cry into pillows.

Rilled
as
  a Rose,
      Petals Painted                                                          ­    
            with Radio-waves                                        Billowing     ­       
                               amongst                   Bouquet of          Ballerinas,
                                         ­    a   Blossoming                                    Trailing
                                                                ­                                          New
                   ­                                                          stars                  Born
                                     ­                                and           Blushing
                                                             Foaming
                                                         ­           at their
                                                           ­                Skirts
                                                                ­              like
      wrapped                                                   ­ the      
up              like home,             Surf of the Sea
in her                    Doesn't it feel
     spiraling                                                        ­  Scented with
                arms?                                       of her sleeves,          warm
                     Sewn into       cotton fibers                                       cosmic
                                       the                                                              ­    latte?
                                                      ­                              uni-                         Oh,
                                                                ­          entire      verse             before
                                                          ­               our                                   we
                                                                ­                was                  grew  
                     ­                                                                 ­  She  // taller

I leave you at the bus stop
half a wake in the wake of you drifting into distance
like this morning but I cannot tell if I am half a dream
when you are away
or half a living
but I definitely feel
like I am one half

When will we ever learn
Not to love with ALL our heart
I suppose it just means
I'm a bad economist.

Thomas said "Seeing is Believing"
But an optometrist knows that our eyes are like a sieve
Everything the light touches, Simba
Has been filtered by us before it reaches our brain
Unlike what we smell, unlike the sounds which beat into our
Tympanic membrane.

Why is it so hard to believe in what we cannot see?
If we know all perceptible colors, sounds, smells are not all that can be?
When we know that the lenses we wear over our retinas
Bend light to bring our vision into focus
And clearly see Mirages are not Water, but a Reflection of the Sky
It's hocus pocus to believe only what we can perCEIVE with our senses
When we hardly receive the world as it is.

The birds can see the infrared and ultraviolet
Snakes can taste temperature, and a map of your warm footprints
Dogs can hear ultrasound, like young children and deer pick
Up high-pitched frequencies whereas adults can no longer
See Santa Claus or Jesus or "Imaginary" Friends

Something about being human
Or maybe its just getting older,
Makes us too cynical and blind
To recognize rainbows and dark matter.

Ask the Giver to give me back my sight and feeling
Because I am reeling with the realization that I live
In a mere sliver of the Entire Spectrum
And can only contemplate it with a tenth of my mind.

I see you reflected in the patterns I live in.
Like the universe reflects on it's own being, I observe you as best I can.
You are the magnetism to my electricity
The chemist to my essayist
The plus to my minus
The yin to my yang
Unlike charges attract
We take and give like
The symmetrical wings of a butterfly work to fly
You are my "otter" half
My universe within a universe
The ever swinging, spinning clock of interlocking grains of sand
in space.
Inner Space! Outer Space!
The atoms within your body, I live on
an electron that revolves around a piece of you, a precious star
needed for the very existence of life.

on this slide of a petri dish
sits a speck containing the DNA
for the birth of the cosmos

it drops predetermined as as fall leaves fall
egg cracks
yolk spills out
gooey, opaque                 suspended around a glowing yellow SUN,
                                                                                 a billion suns,
                                            a disk of ever-flattening, expanding life

It stretches. It yawns.
It cries for its mother.

---------------------------------------------------------
Out of it teems throngs of the tiniest colonies
whose kingdoms rise, rage, and fall

the sun burns out.
It takes an infinite eon for the dying stars to reach us and then what?

Planets freeze over, gravitational collapse ensues
we are suctioned silently into a black vacuum

All that's left, the smallest seed buried in a dark grave
waiting to bloom.

Death to Life.
A Resurrection.

Feels like a chorus song how surrendered you render my worries
Ebbs away words once written in sand we band and
Adulthood turns less intimidating
Restless I wish to find you near or hear your voice but
Lacking your presence find peace in prayer, asking 'Is God fair?'
Endlessly encouraging me not to despair I'm aware that
Solitude is not quite alone, without being shown if I can trust in the
Spirit which sees more clearly than eyes who is here

I love, therefore whom shall I fear?

Love is patient and it is kind.

It only wants what is it's own
And not what belongs to someone else.

It admires not itself but
What is worthy in others.

It is honest but softens the edges
Of harsher words and harsher truths.

It is selfless, compassionate, and
Forgives before a wrong can be
Perceived or remembered for the very first time.

It protects like a raincoat,
Or a ferocious mother bear, and hopes
Like an SOS signal.

It is as persistent as the exertion
Of gravity and as constant as the
Existence of energy.


If I had the entire world in my hands or let myself burn at the stake for you but had not love...

Then I would be nothing.

Sometimes I wonder...
Will I leave anything on this earth when I die?
Besides candy wrappers and crumpled pieces of notebook paper?

What if I told you that your god is dead?
that supply and demand, economic forces
we trust more than the laws of physics
are not supplemented by a caring, Invisible hand?

That the holy scriptures, thin, green pages
in between the folds of a wallet
are no more valueable than this gum wrapper
blowing in the wind
Unless we all BELIEVE otherwise

Adam Smith said
"Many will enter, but few will win" -cite
What will give you a sense of purpose
or security when you try to sleep at night?

Everyone hope in the American Dream!
a capitalistic kushion to save you in your time of need
made of vapor to catch you when the stocks are falling
its appalling this heaven of prosperity
that depends on consuming more and more of the earth

Listen to The Economist's sermon
Watch how he reads the tea leaves
Will the Fed raise the interest rates this year?
We throw the dice and say our prayers.

All things work together for good
For those who love it.

Welcome to the worship of Mammon.

Affirmative. I’m opinionated. Just imagine I’m every confident, intellectual woman that you’ve ever hated. You must be faded: the smack you talk, you deserve to be berated. Son, I’ll spank you back to your upbringing like yo mother should have!

Girl you’re brilliant, but when they treat you like an acquisition, come behind your desk and ask what’s your favorite position.
ANSWER, ANSWER:     C. E. O.!                  “you **!”
You know they say “I’m sick of your complaining” and “snap this ***** is crazy. Oh ****! She must be MEN-STRUATING!”

You’re disrespectful to the *****. Positively shady. Boys will be boys that language is fitting for them to call you but not for a LAY-DEE. When all you see on a woman is ******* and ***** - Hey! We are not passes to your manhood. looks down  Your ego is inflated with superficial currency           “manpoints!”    
You need to treat women like **** to have any value? Well you got a sentence slated. “Female, don’t say those things, forbid they feel EMASCULATED!” Well you made this sandwich.   And now you have to eat it.             “beat it!”

Don’t treat me like an object. I reject how you project your gender roles on me they’re only fiction. Man, I hate to tell you but my life is in MY OWN jurisdiction. You better be grateful I chose the restraining order, yet you’re still pushing the border.                                  
                       ­                                      “Get outta my business!”

Don’t touch me, bro, I’m close to the edge. Me and my homies gonna push you off this ledge.
As for the rest of you,
Yea I know you’re afraid to give me power, know imma tower over you and win this battle like Eisenhoooower.

So be wary of the toxins you provide to this chemist
Cuz she’ll stir them into a weapon, release the angry FEM IN IIIIST!

I don't ever want to be like you
talk like you
walk like you
pop that glue
ya numb to the pain
you cause with your dollars
the hollars of people wronged
throng 'round your house
in their dreams
they mean to take back their wages
pages of their people's history
stolen by man in a monkey suit

I do
not know what
moments I will
be given.    Nor
                                                                moments
                                                       what                will be             away
                                                                                             stolen

                                      
                                    not know
                            I do                  if I
                        or not                      chose
                          world                to come
                                      into this


But I am here.

come here and let me love you
come here and let me care
no ***** that I didn't mean it
you know I'm coming there

This body
That you see
Is not me

It is merely the veil
Which I put on in the morning

Look into my eyes.
Do you see
My soul?

I imagine it was about a year ago
When another group of enthused college students
from a prestigious university
gathered all their resources to buy necessities from the dollar store
cheap as they come,
to give to the droves of men, women, and many children,
living in the rolling hills of trash and rotting refuse
down in Nogales

you know, the ones the government ignores
and that,
when you ask about them, the police deny exist
and turn you back down the dirt road from where
the poor teem and forage for survival,
camouflaged in their make-shift bedrooms and kitchens
of discarded plastic, wood, and tin.

Tonight,
I am just remembering that moment when we reached the
bottom of our bags
and had to turn a family down
because we didn't bring enough toothbrushes.

I saw a brown boy in Mexico
couldn't have been more than eight years old
he was wearing jean overalls, face covered in ash
using an axe to chop up the wood of his burned down home
helping his father make room to build anew

we said we're giving away clothes
can you take us to the center
of this shantytown
he said sorry no, I have to work

so his smiling little sister waved to her mom
and said cheerfully, I can give you directions
as she sat next to Sister Jodi in the van and led the brigade
I looked out the back window and saw that little man
still focused,
chopping.

And if we are slaves to our passions
Then isn't the greatest freedom self-control?
Just know,
Some people would rather watch you get convicted
Than let you follow your own convictions.

Lost in
     communication.
       Let  your  aim be
>>>==steady === for==once you ===>
          loose your lips,
    the interpretation
       is out of your
     hands.

three euro pizza
baking in the oven with tomato sauce, cheese, pepperoni, oregano
the timer is ticking
it rings like someone at the door
who's company you've been expectantly waiting
you ****** open the way
and it hits you, caresses your face
the wafting hot scent of pizza
like the embrace of an old friend

my heart is so full
it's bursting at the seams
I dont know how it happened
and i dont know what it means
but i think
we were all put here
for such a time as this
there's meaning to our living
there's a reason we exist
and I think that you
yes you
were meant to meet with me
that we were meant to cross our paths
and be changed gradually
you've made me into the person
who i am today
you've left your maze, your soul's fingerprints
on this person, on this clay
because we were there before we were born
and we never really die
because you can blow out a flame
but you can't shut out the light
and i will fight to show you
that you matter
that your smiles change the world
same as your tears
your wonderings
your pains turned into pearls
and I just wish i could say it all
in a single word
that I love you
that you're beautiful
like a shot heard 'round the world
people may forget
but once in a lifetime comets
still come around again
and you deserve to know that
you are precious
and that
you are my friend

Someone gave me a time machine
wrapped up in a bow,
a gift, they said, to take me
wherever I'd like to go

I said I'd like to see the past
and a man, quite old and grey,
sat me near him, as he told
how it was for him one day

then I said I'd like to change
the course of history
and I was made to answer a child's
questions on life and liberty

that is immortality
to gather years gone by
to take up others' wisdom
and leave something behind

that is how to alter fate
and stitch up what's to be
make ripples in time's fabric
with a touch of destiny

from HERE we reach what is behind
from NOW we shape the world
it is this moment that defines
all that will be unfurled

Someone gave me a time machine
its door and limits unknown
but I know that I am in it
and I know it is HERE

somebody slow dance with me
and don't say a word
there aint a thing needs to be heard
cept the sound of us being carefree
for that moment, when you are holding me

forgive me if I lost track of you
sometimes you're not sure if a sock goes in the pair
so you let it go where it pleases
and then this happens
and you never really know

so noisily these nights
I cannot sleep
But when I put in earplugs
My heart beats just as loudly

shouldn't I be comforted
the presence of my friend's breathing
shouldn't I be glad
I'm alive, my heart's beating

but all I can think right now
is I wish we could sleep like the dead
and get some peace and quiet
in my weary leaded head

spores! spores!
fluttering demon spawn everywhere!
fluffy white bleached miniscule chimney sweep umbrellas
cascading down like so many newly born spiders
on their silky web shoots
coming over the hill and roof to attack
traversing miles to my nose
which weeps
in sneezes so magnificent
they'd frighten off an elephant

I tell you, for every reproductive winged plant seedling I will counter with fifteen crumpled white tissues

evil evil pollen, the curse, the allergy, which trapped me in the castle in my youth, on many a lovely spring day

hey! you with the face! look over here!




alright, now that I have your attention.




Carry on.

phrasesfaceplantmufflyduffledinafluffypillow
you hear so obviously
what I utter in mutters under my breath is a bridge
shaded from view where the hobo's live
when they don't want to be bothered

I pilgramaged to the top of a mountain
to loose my whispers in the wind lost forever
bleached, torn and fraying bits of a flag that lost the war
But you picked them up like so many scraps of paper
fluttered and jumbled to reconstruct and decipher,
I MEANT TO THROW THEM AWAY
but all you notice are
keys to my safebox, in the garbage can
making a jingle jangle ruckus in their silence

Though I must have laryngitis still your receptors
never picked up the signal so clearly as when
I venture to get away, erase what I wrote in white noise dust
as if I had shouted my carefully guarded secrets
from rooftops

Sometimes I fathom you can even hear my thoughts

You are the most velveteen of all the rabbits
And I will hold you every night, tight to my chest
And suffocate you sometimes
But most of all love you
And it will be worth it