She hurried on,
A laptop clutched to her chest,
Heavy bags with some books
And a pile of thoughts from nowhere.

She seemed to levitate,
Lifted by her own emotions.
She nearly lifted off, but she tripped
And fell on a bright fall afternoon.

A tiny, ridiculous bump,
Like a karate fighter’s sudden strike,
Sent her body reeling with a single blow.

She groaned.
She couldn’t stand up,
Her ankles were hurt.
The ego suffers shame
Lying flat, stripped of dignity—
Flesh and bone with higher aspirations
At the lowest score.

People passed without a word,
Without even bending down.
Invisibility. Disappearance.
Soon, perhaps, she will be taken
To another plane?
There lay a woman— not a human being?

Strange things happen on this cozy Earth.
Perhaps it was consciousness itself,
Or simple hellish humiliation on the wet sidewalk?

All speculation ended
with one short remark:
“She’s just drunk!”

How can you not love all these people
for their deep insight,
their tireless devotion to shapes
and short, simple lines.

Oh, Prophets at every step of our shared path,
always knowing more about my life –
and yours.

To all my beloveds,


Why are you in such a rush?
Where do you think you have to go?
Why do you live as though in a race?

Don’t rush.
You won’t win.
There is no winning.
There is nothing after that end.

Where do you even have to go?
I’m the one who has to go…

And I will go,

Slow.


Before I meet that end,
Please,

Take my hand.

Waltz with me into that windy night,
Not with haste,
But with the remains,
Of this grotesque grace.  

Let the wind howl.
Let it push.
Let it beg us to hurry on our way.

Let it do as it may,
But I will not rush to that end,
Under anyone’s command.

Just,

Go slow.


I will,

Go slow.



Drag your feet through the dusk.
Let the moonlight kiss the path,
Though it can never again light the way.

There is no destination.
Only this journey.
Only this ache.
Only this love.

I will,

Go slow.


Slow enough,

To cry.

For these tears are worthy of my time.
For they are true to my heart.

I will,

Go slow.

As I cry this truth,
I won’t rush to lie to you.
I won’t sprint toward bliss,
For there is none at the end.

I will waltz slowly through this pain.
Because I want to feel this love.
Because I crave every burden,
Of this human heart.



Go slow,
As you read the story.
Go slow,
As you listen to the song.
Go slow,
As you live this life.

Don’t race through beauty,
Just to meet nothing.
Don’t race through pain,
Just to meet that eternity.

That,

Distant

Icky

Eternity.


Go slow,

With companions, or alone.

Go slow,

Until the world lets go.


Let it hurt.
Let me cry.
Slowly, I love.
Slowly, I cling.
Slowly, I’m dragged away.

Slowly, I fade…

Into,


Into,


That,


Into,


Oblivion…

Go…

Slow.



Slower.

Slower still.

Almost,

Imperceptibly.

As,


You,


Approach,


That,


That,


That,



Distant

Icky


Eternity


Go,



Go,



Go,



Slow.



And if I must,

If I must say goodbye,

If this is the end of our time,


Then let me,

Let me smile,

As I go,


As I go slowly,


Dreaming,

That I am hand in hand,

With such kind company.


Waltzing slowly,

Until I,

Must let go,


Until you,


Until you must,

Move on,


Until I smile,

One last time,



As you must carry on,



Until I,

Until I succumb,

To that,


To,


That,

That,




That,




Distant







Icky











Eternity.





Sincerely,
Your companion
From genesis, through oblivion

Some victories are so quiet,
the world never hears them—
yet they echo forever in the soul.

No one saw
the nights you whispered,
“Just one more day.”
No one felt
how your chest ached
from holding in storms,
or how your hands trembled
as you tried to stitch
your own broken edges.
Yet you kept walking—
through the ache,
through the silence,
through days that felt
they would never end.
And maybe no one will ever know
the wars you fought alone,
but here’s the truth:
You survived them.
And survival—
is everything.

liars love the moon
and their worst lie
is the one they tell themselves
that it will love them back
or
that it even could.

it will slowly drive them mad
and in the end can make them
drink and
drown themselves,
shoes left neatly on the sand
in the pale light.

(for Carole Landis)