There's something not right -
There's something not right --
(It just isn't right) are the stars
misaligned is the moon
too bright for the night -
The clock ticks time by and
try as you might, there is no one to
fight
You just missed a step, or a blink, or
passed over-the-dregs-of-the-things-
you-looked-past-and-poured-down-the­-
sink
without thought
.
.
The bells fall silent to mourn the death of thought

Remember that night.
The struggle with the mother... the cries, the ocean, the sand, the moon,
the friend standing by...
How terrible, to remember in thoughts from the perspective of another person, another place,
wishing for the equivalent of that stretch of beach that moment,
only here and in a different form....
a vast space to contain you in your most free, expressive tantrum
(a space to contain my rage)
to handle my feet as I run, my cries, my body as I numb and hurdle myself against walls or sand to induce feeling or feed my rage, or tame my rage...
I have no rage, I have sadness, without aim. And when there's nothing to aim it at words become angels.

Take daydreams. You let yourself float in them. Let yourself tune out.
Or tune in.
I'd choose the topics of my dreams carefully as if they would feel complimented. I'd give thought to the things I'd spend forever with. Physically, you can escape. Mentally, you can't, unless you take outside help.
They slip back in, things like a night spent crying on the beach about things you can't seem to change.
I spilled my soul into the sand, and it could take it. I cried my heart into the air and it faded, it passed.
The gaps are what cleansed me between then and now, and the difference becomes painfully obvious. Painful no matter what way you look at it, because there are gains and losses on either side.

Close your eyes, and you can change anything. Most people would change their circumstances. Maybe that's a mask for the desire to change yourself.

Hush... tremble.
Would you choose sound or touch?
Along with old colors flying
comes a familiar rush -
a face, a fight, a crutch.
You leaned too far into the
backs of your supporters - is there
no word but which comes from
blind reporters?
You're clutching cold into your fingers -
wait, wait, wait and count to
three - there's always more than
you can think-of-when-the-
situation-starts-to-sink-just-out-of-
reach

Y­our grasp is slipping, questions ripping
away unanswered
Let go, let go, let go the countless
moments-that-you'd-like-to-claim-
are-yours-without-the­-shame
of unopened doors

There's no one to blame.
You've flown off course-
There is no course, there is only
finding the rest of the pieces -
There always will be a mess
and some creases -
however long your reach is -

At the end of it all, the moments
you remember are the ones
spent looking away from your feet.

Breathe in, breathe out, look up, repeat.

When the sky falls, rivers
will carry you away, spinning,
laughing at absurdities. I promise
you, my hand will be ready,
within reach, if only you reach for
it, please -
who is saving who? Darkness
becomes light
savor the sight of it, bathe in
delight and we'll forget the
loss of blue moons-
Two moons-
I saw the ocean in your eyes
when you didn't look away that time,
and the sky rose without
hate and without crime, and my
thoughts floated freely, I longed
only for a simple touch....
Blink, you chose to slip away like
sand in the wind to fall with my sky
and an echoing cry.

Freedom.
Salt water - feet, ankles, tongue
Close your eyes.... trust -
the world to smile upon you while you
sleep.
The sky blinks.
Maybe you'll catch it a hundred times,
or maybe none.... follow -
your feet without thinking.
Swallow your thoughts, but not
before swirling them around in your
mouth and having a taste.
Embrace the pain, embrace the
weights that come without words,
hold yourself and remember
your height is relative.
If you feel small, think big. Dream
dreams.
Breathe in, bathe in rivers, freefall.
Free.
Choose your steps.
Don't look over your shoulders too long.
Don't think too long about eyes,
except for admiration.....
.....Gaze.......... . . . . . . . .  .   .   .
.    .      .      .       .   .     . until time doesn't
matter. Time doesn't
matter. Time
doesn't matter.

Time doesn't matter.

Nurture your pains and a tree will grow.
Don't think so much! Feel -
feel - feel -feel -
bark on your favorite tree.
Breathe it in.
Wade into the ocean and savor
the taste of salt.

Go, go, go, go, go and don't
stop. You're doing things.
It's impossible to stop.

Move, breathe, think, try to slow down.
It's impossible to stop.

The world is waiting for you.
The world is working with you.
Go smell a flower - you aren't slowing down,
you're just doing another thing worth doing.
Everything is going - try to wrap your head around it -
everything just changed, and so did you.

"home"
...

you could say it, sway to it, pray for it,
shake it away, it could take it.

if you stay, though, you might never embrace it.

It's the cold and the crash that strike
holes in the soles of your feet as you bash
and enfold into lichens and teeth,
and the places you breathe,
and you stop for relief

and the places, the places...
you were hanging on branches, raining long faces
singing sad praises of things that you wasted
and wish that you stayed for and felt some remorse for
and took to the graces encased in the

graves you've returned for,
days that you've paid for,
ways to pass pain over
tumults of things that you changed for

and all along, whistling a song,
wistfully thinking of a place to belong
sighing and singing of places to roam
you find yourself in this space you've been shaping
and realize you're home.