Not all wars are fought in other worlds
       Some are fought at home, in relation, even within ourselves
              We carry weapons but they’re not man made
            neither are they visible nor physical
Instead of bullets we shoot words. Instead of knives we stab with betrayal
Instead of dropping bombs we exploit secrets. Instead of bullet proof jackets we build walls but those walls tend to fall.
The depressed are the wounded, the heartbroken are the casualties and those who shed tears are defeated in battle.
We’re not fully armored, we’re not prepared for this. In the front lines we must stand. Forgiveness can’t win this war
We may fight these battles alone but we fight our wars together

echoing in my head
i am compelled
my knee begins
to pulse up and down
my head
weaves back and forth
my shoulders
they slide
side to side

the synth is the hot sand
warming my feet
compelling me
to rest my face upon it
like warm paper
hot from the printer
i lay my whole body
in the sand

the bass
is an amtrak train
from washington
to new york
flashing the swampy green
and beautiful lakes
across your eyes
faster than a movie
it is real

the drums are a tiny room
and i am a small red ball
elated, uncontrollable
i ricochet off every wall
faster and faster
the walls appear hard
but are soft
to the touch

i close my eyes

my hands are stretched
out close to my sides,
i see the world in
four quadrants

one is the beach...
the sun now sets
and an orange glow
blinds me for a moment,
through squinting eyes
the majesty of the
waves, rolling in orange,
shocks me
in a single orange beam
straight through my heart
and out into the other quadrants

i turn my hips
to reveal the second quadrant
and i am suddenly on a train
shooting through the air in front
from metal tracks on the ground
around me are trees
climbing and sliding upwards
their trunks rotating in slow circles

the green grows
and grows
in moments it fills the world
consuming my sight
all is green for a moment

and then the green shrinks
forming corners as it disappears
becoming a cube
then the cube grows
and in front of me
grows a red door
and it opens
and again
i am a bouncing
red ball
and for a moment
i am fully present
in bouncing

then i fall, gravity ceasing
and i am back standing
with my hands to my sides
and i see the fourth quadrant
i see myself
grinning and shaking
swinging my whole body
in random patterns
in my chair, at my desk
typing a poem on my computer

teach me how to love,
and to be loved.
so that i will know the meaning
of what is everything