I had grown tall,                                                         distant
                                                                                       and lost

(Within a cacophony of voices, a spectrum of choices)

Now,

                an awakening

Silent roots—grown tired of relative safety—leap
into the foreground

And spill color across my
blank canvas

Takes a while to sink in, this
new place, the smell of cleaning
products and wood, leather and
old books

This is my home—how did I get here?

I work maniacally, rearranging as a signature,
desperate approval for this change

So much space
"you'll be comfortable"

living apart, what
life should I lead?

I was walking the streets of Amsterdam
Trying to figure out the type of man that I am
The red lights filling the black night
My heart was torn between the sultry things
And the hope of stability
A life without despair or fear
Unsettled and unfilled I went looking for thrills

I wandered on

Braving the cold Icelandic seas
I was diving into the depths of me
Finding the treasures I’ve buried deep
Hoping to find what everyone says they see
Because I’m tired of mirrors trying to flee
No evidence that I have an ounce of worth
I set out to find my place on earth

I wandered on

Serving to clean the streets of Brazil
How could I give to earn my fill
I fell in love with every person I met
Drinking tea on summer days
Like the world wasn’t as bad as they say
I paid for heaven with sweat and faith
Instead of indebting my life to death

I wandered on

I saw England, I saw France
After sinning we agreed to dance
To pretend were weren’t broken sculptures
Thrown across the floor
We kept each other begging for more
Good day my love, avoir my friend

I wandered on

I found my end
In heaven I reflect on my wandering heart
How it nearly tore my soul apart
I sought for peace and chased my love
God has taught me to look within
Find a fiber of faith to begin
Now look around and find your friends
You’re the answer to their tearful prayers
Be the one to show you care
Don’t wander past your current place
Until you’ve extended your hand of grace

I’ve wandered on

Cap and tassel,
diploma,
freedom from academia.
A swift, ****** birth
as I'm shoved through to real life,
supposedly born grown,
a bright smile and a firm hand shake,
along with a list of accomplishments.
I have none, my resume made
completely of Diablo Rock Gym
and Chipotle.
Great.
Maybe I can still fail a class,
tell the professor I copied
my A paper, get expelled
and start all over!
Or fade away quick,
sink fast before anyone notices.
I'll slide into some forgotten swamp,
survive on worms,
and my own words,
                                    my own words,
             my            own                 wo,
my                   own            w
                                 my                      own
                                               my          ow
                   my
            m                                                   y
   m
               .

So tell me what you want to be
And what you think you need of me
For what you do
You will become
As habit makes it part of one

For habits grind and clearly shape
Rough edges smoothed,
some dreams may break
Then, from time to time
There’s someone who
Will melt or break a part of you
So once again your shape does change
Though it may feel you’re just the same

It may take another, looking on
To see the shape that you’ve become
So maybe that should be my role?
Some sort of yardstick of your soul?
But then again, I will change too
So perhaps we’d better muddle through
And focus on the spark inside
The flame that undiminished shines

And if, as said, that change is certain
It will never be the final curtain
So embrace the change in me and you
And love the flame that shines on through

Dave was the kind of guy to always talk about leaving; we have all known a guy like Dave and we have always wished he would go, not because we didn’t want him around but because we knew he was one of the few who could go. Sometimes he would work up the courage and leave this suburban drive by; he even spent a few months out west, Portland or something. He never mentioned it much, the trip didn’t last long, more like an extended vacation before he was back working the same job, drinking at the same bar and kissing the same woman, well not the same exact woman but she was always close enough to the previous one, the difference seemed insignificant to us. I'd look at him at the end of that bar, sipping his beer as he wore the face of a man who was often late for work because he lost his keys. He found them once before between the cushions of the couch, so now every time he misplaced them, he would check their first and check again six more times. Always looking for what he needed in the same place he found it once.

The boulders are freckled along the bank,
sleeping on lime-skin grass, grey and tired.
Fading black canvas shoes
attach to smooth, firm sides,
climbing a planet not as hard as ours.

From the distance, a spinning speck is seen.
With binoculars cupped around each eye,
you can see her twirl in the old, pink thing;
in the mirrors of light, you can see her beauty,
even if she has been blind her entire life.

You can see her rest her shoulder on a boulder,
gasps trying to grasp galloping breath --
and in between each choke, you must wonder
if you co-exist in this world
or separately, infinitely.

When you are drunk on the altitude,
it's time to step down and walk to sea-level.
Scurrying down thrown-up mountainside,
you should try not to trip on nature
or your own nature.