It never ends It never changes
But we do
The clouds And the moon
Reflections
So Bright But so needy
Just Like us

Above it all For once in my life
but nervous
not Like a Fish in the ocean
Floating
Deep But always so alone
just like Me

Nothing can be done Nothing at all
But wait
a mirror extended End to end
Silent
But So true So hurtful So real
Just like you

Trying to find
Profound things to say
About the escaping day
Swimming like those bubbles
You blew as a kid into the garden sky
About endings and capture
And letting pretty birds fly

The sky folds into grey
Peach slashes between ceilings

He names each nook and cranny of the coast
As it shuffles imperceptibly closer
“Ever thought of sailing places?”
And just like that
Father to eldest son
He p
         O
            U
              R
               S
The sea into him

“Sometimes it good to be home”
She says of the chalk cliffs
And the purplest of greens
Bruising the horizon

In the dim light of the kitchen
I noticed she was standing,
gazing through the window
for quite some time
I took another sip of coffee
and made my way over
her back to me
I put my arm round her shoulder as I often do
"What do you see out there in the dark?"
she didn't answer
just continued to stare
then turning slightly toward me
I saw a tear had made it's way down her cheek
her hand was shaking just enough that I would notice
"I don't remember walking over here"
she said in such a pitiful voice
that I had to fight back my own tears
"You're just tired
Maybe we should turn in early"

Like the dying light of a distant star
I was losing her
a little more each night

In the dim of the kitchen
I sip my coffee
and eye a black patch of sky
where once flickered the light of a star
so brightly

On this day
the twin teen
from the golden age

flies away

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows
     My friends forsake me like a memory lost,
I am the self-consumer of my woes—
     They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love’s frenzied, stifled throes—
And yet I am, and live—like vapors tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
     Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
     But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest, that I love the best,
Are strange—nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes, where man hath never trod,
     A place where woman never smiled or wept—
There to abide with my Creator, God,
     And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling, and untroubled where I lie,
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

In and of our singular truths
Peering through lustful eyes
We become things of paranoia
All the things we despise

We tend to hate mystery
Things we fail to understand
Constantly worry about status quo
Capitalise on supply and demand

Laugh at our brothers loss
Hoard up our pennies and dimes
Never lend a helping hand
To those in hard times

Hate our neighbor of color
Wish upon them a horrid demise
Then when karma calls
We stand wide-eyed in surprise

Kindness is considered weakness
Love, a sinful shame
If one doesn't fit the mold
Then by all means, slander their name

We may all believe differently
But yet we are the same
We each breathe in and out
And humanity is our name

We walk not of this world way, but by Faith.
For each of us has been promise different things.
Yet we still walk by the same Faith as the other.
We each are on a different path with him as well.
Some Faith may stronger today, but not tomorrow.
For Faith is by hearing, then believing it is true.
We all have the very same objective here in life.
It is to finish this race=Journey that we are on.
Thus then being told by our Savior well done.

witches adorn the front covers
of ecofeminist zines
in an anarchist bookstore
nestled on the Left Bank
of Seattle's waterfront

rare rays of sunlight
filter through sheer curtains
photons glimmering
through fading droplets
clinging to cracked panes
refracting multicolor

i sit in the window-seat
listening to a homeless
balladeer's somber renditions
of Jonny Cash and Woodie Guthrie
serenading the locals bustling
down Pike Street Market
while the Olympic Mountains
keep their vigil
across a lonely bay

Emma Goldman whispers
for Alexander Berkman
and i balance on mismatched cushions
considering Proudhon's insistent
inquiries while Bakunin smirks  
nursing secret heresies of insurrection

colorful posters are paper-machéd
across the walls with slogans of struggle
scrawled in sisterhood and solidarity
stickers plaster the narrow halls
encouraging visitors to Smash Capitalism!
or Read A ******* Book
as jam-packed patrons chance
sly peaks at the black flag
suspended in the back room

a faint breeze flutters intermittently
drifting across the open threshold
lifting spirits as if sifting
through grains of sand
not unlike a child
digging for answers
armed with one
monosyllabic question

why?

the banner
cheerfully pirouettes  
for a revolution
without dancing
is not one worth having