let me yoke to you.
twist mine into yours.
***** me in at the hips.
lift me into your if's
and have me, present.

our torquing bodies
charging each other,
holding back the

bloom of darkness.

yes, it is true:
we are
closest to the dark.

but we are also
sown to the broadest urge
that wrote us.

this ebb is lit with written poems,
receding into the lightness of dense being.

so,
jot me
into this

and i
will
exist in
your margins,

like nice little notes
that mean everything in the world.

your light feels like
a fast getaway from
all the things that "matter."

**** all that **** ride with me babyyy

till we hit

white
hot
screams
of
conscious ne s   s

trying to find myself, like a ghost in a snow storm.
every time i do this, its like waking up from a dream.
a dream in which im watching my life play out.
familiar motions keep the appearance of lucidity
but its really coordinated stumbling I'm a puppet
pulling my own strings, but then, there are days like today -
the wind blows just right and i am here.
i am here and i am me, and it gives me a headache - but i enjoy it.
10 out of 10, would headache again.
i wanted to say to you, all of you know know me and wonder where ive gone even if im right in front of you,
that for the moment, i am here
i am here now, and i see you, and i love you.

I've had a lot of dreams
About my old house
And my family
My dogs
And my hometown
Recently

They make me miss home

But after moving a few times
Or more than a few times
I realize that home
Is made of the people
That love you the most
And wherever they go
They are bringing you home

Home part II

Home to me was comfort
Comfort and love
Fighting and pain
But mostly comfortable and warm
Authentic

Home sometimes feels like
What my parents taught me