Let the sun shine
on the fields of this life
where everything's fine
and we're taking our time.

When the sun has gone
to an unknown beyond
should we stifle a yawn
and pray for the dawn?

If you get caught
where the dealing is hot
you get what you got
and that's the price of a thought.

It often gets cold
so I've been told
when you're alone
with no body to hold.

It's up to you
so what will you do?
'Though you can't always choose
when the skies are blue.

What could you say
to the wind and the rain?
Don't be afraid,
it will all blow away.

All is not as it seems.
Life flows out from your dreams,
laughing between painted scenes
of long lost memories.

Watch them dance across the night,
but stare too long and you just might
spend your time in silent delight;
lose your time to the quiet night.

Don't grab for the fading smoke and
resist the past you've broken --
don't keep a reminiscent token --
and you may find yourself awoken.

Let me tell you, my friend:
listening for whispers on the wind
can only bring about the end.
Ah, but silence may mend

reality's split seams.
Life flows out from your dreams,
laughing between painted scenes
of long lost memories.

"Do you miss me?" She asked.
And I, trying my best not to lie,
said how I felt, in reply:

"I'm enjoying my solitude."
We'd been apart scarcely a day,
after being inseparable for months.

"Well, enjoy your solitude."
Immediately I understood the
influence of an honest word.

Ah, that's the last sentence I heard
before I was left to contemplate
the soft silence on the other side
of an empty receiver.

I slept well the first few nights,
expecting to find her back in my
arms by the end of the week.

Our paths never crossed again,
and her phone's been disconnected
(she probably forgot to pay).

She left a few things:
pants and underwear on the floor;
pens (which won't be used any more);
a toothbrush on the corner of the sink;
and an old picture of her's
which hangs hollow on the wall.

Now thoughts whirl around like
a dervish of misgivings:
if only I lied through my teeth
for the duration of a call.

Wednesday:

A movie theater
at around six o'clock
with beer and a movie for
only five bucks.

(Who could resist such a deal?)

As I stood in a line to
buy myself a drink,
I observed the other people.

Mostly couples.
A couple families.
Probably a few
small groups of friends.

But no one else alone,
as far as I could tell.
So I paid for my drink
and returned, alone, to my seat.

Then, just before the feature:

A woman turned my way,
as if she had something to tell me;
but instead she spoke to some guy
standing just over my shoulder:

"Oh, honey-pie, my dear!
You were almost late to the show!"

I laughed on the inside,
finished my beer,
and left.

Thursday:

Sunset in the marsh;
sitting on a bench
with a bottle of wine
to keep me company.

A woman walked by,
and couldn't bare
to look me in the eye.

She tripped over her dog
while trying to ignore my existence;
and, after apologizing to the
animal (what a human thing to do!)

she turned towards me, blushing.
I laughed and I smiled
but she grew more red in response.
Then she hurried along, leaving me alone to drink.

Somehow I find that my life runs in place;
like everything I've done is vacant space:

She knocked on my door, the other day.
She invited me out to the woods, to play.

She was wired on something, dilated eyes;
she couldn't get over how we all will die.

There were tears in the tree-trunk as rain came down;
we were huddled together on the outskirts of town.

She gave me a hug, and glanced far away;
it must have hurt to know I wouldn't stay.

A few days passed, in the silence of life;
there's nothing to say while you're waiting to die.

Then Thanksgiving dinner with strangers (or friends?),
though this time they stumbled over caps and stems.

Now that you're here,
are you here to stay?
I'm making my way
through the trees as they sway.
But what's with the sun?
You know it's too bright today.
Please won't you tell me
that it's all okay?

Now that you're here
are you here to stay?
I'm miles from town
and there's no one around.
I hear sounds
like footsteps on the ground.
Please won't you tell me
that it's all okay?

Now that you're here
are you here to stay?
My head's in the clouds.
My feet on the ground.
Then I start to rise
and I panic inside.
Please won't you tell me
that it's all okay?

Now that you're here
are you here to stay?
I'm light on my feet
as I go down the street.
I get to your door,
I've never felt this before.
Please won't you tell me
that it's all okay?

The higher I go,
the more I miss the ground;
but when I'm low,
I think You've only let me down.

I don't want to leave these arms of heaven.
Hold me here just a little bit more.

It's all I can do to try to stand up straight
and forgive all the foes I've made along the way
'cause when I think I'm finally in the right
it turns out I am a shadow standing in the light.
I don't even believe what I have seen,
the fragments and tattered threads of a destiny
woven with life and death on a country road,
coming to terms with mortal flesh and bone.
I am trying to be a different kind of man.
Who can look in your eyes and say: "I understand.
I know what it is that you're going through,
and I'll do what I can to be here for you."
But now I hardly go out my front door.
Mostly I'm at home, sitting on the floor,
humming empty tunes and writing rhymes,
tapping out the seconds as they pass on by.
But I'm starting to think that there's something more,
that there's something bigger still in store
and if I were to put my neck on the line
I would be the one who ends up fine.
I know a thought in my mind is the tool
causing the transformation of a fool
who finally sees that it's his decision
if he'd like to join the world as a magician.

"One for the pain,
two to make it go away."
He says as he washes
his benzos down
with whiskey.

He doesn't want to
wake up the next day,
'cause ever since twenty-seven
life's gone downhill.

A tall Japanese woman
stands beside him,
and takes the plunge, too.
Follows it with whiskey.
Always follow with whiskey.

Her marriage is
falling apart,
and ever since twenty-seven
life's gone downhill.

He tried to leave, once,
with a ****** overdose:
"That **** ***** of
a girlfriend had
to save my life."

He tattooed DNR on
both wrists
because of that *****.

He tugs on the
Japanese gal's skirt;
even looming suicide
doesn't slake his piggish lust.

She slaps his hand
and stands on the
other side of the
room, arms crossed.

"Ya know,
standing like that
makes yer ****
look bigger."

She walks into the
kitchen and drinks
more whiskey;
that *******'s the reason
for her life's steady decline.

They drive, fully hammered,
to a beach blanketed with fog.

They build, fully hammered,
a bonfire; gotta burn it all!

They sit, fully hammered,
waiting for sleep to hit;
that final slip into oblivion
with a heavy sinking lull.

He can't speak without a slur;
she can't see without a blur.

He can't stand without a wobble;
she can't stand without a topple.

His eyelids grow heavy;
his breath starts to slow.
Her breath isn't steady;
her lungs hardly grow.

Good-night, old friends.
Good-bye.

Each separate reflections
of altered deceptions;

like all intersections
of other-than-present's,

every point will yield
to a forward direction.

Neither had seen a thing
like this in their lives;

a single soul's creation
outside the bound'ries of "mine."

But each knows the riddle
to catch the next dawn:

Think, eat, breathe, pause.
Drink, sleep, breathe, pause.

Though they hit play on the day,
could they tell me how it ends?

Awkwardly she stands by me
and speaks about the weather.

Honestly, does she believe
that I am something better?

I went for a walk in the comforts of night,
determined to finally set all my problems right.
I got lost in a daze when I took a wrong turn.
I'm finding my way by the bridges I've burned,
and now I'm low.

I reached up for something that was just out of grasp
and I slipped when I touched it, and fell on my ***.
I was laying and praying, sprawled out on the floor
wondering what on Earth I was suffering for,
and now I'm low.

I went to the mountains to breathe the fresh air
to rejuvenate my senses with an infusion of care.
Then the avalanche came rushing, being set free.
I got caught in the glaciers crashing around me
and now I'm low.

I went to the valley and I looked in the stream
and I saw my reflection staring back at me,
saying "What is that you are running from
that has you so beaten, so rough and so glum
and now you're low.

I wish there was something I could do or say,
but everyone has to make their own way.
What were you doing, in God's holy name,
juggling matches in a world made of flame?
And now you're low.

Get out of your pity, get out of your mind.
The future's uncertain. It could end up fine.
Get back to your work and don't ever stop
'til you've filled your being back to the top
and you're not low."

In that first moment
I knew something was different.
Maybe I was high,
but as I passed by
I noticed how her eyes
wrapped 'round the other side,
and her face gently curved
beyond what I observed.
As I wandered through the store,
I forgot what I came in for.
What I had seen
I couldn't believe:
is this what they mean
when they say "beauty?"
I noticed the ring on her finger,
the piercing in her nostril,
the color of her eyes,
her lips,
her smile,
the sound of her voice
as she bid me good day.

The next day I returned.
The automatic door opened,  
she turned
studied my face.
A smile, then back to work.

"I like your shirt. Are you from Philadelphia?" She asked,
referencing the Philadelphia Folk Festival shirt.
"No, thankfully."

Should I have told my experience of Philadelphia?
Of psychosis bordering on dementia,
of raw confusion and terror,
of stupid decisions compounded with error,
of hopes and expectations,
of my inability to maintain relations?

"Seems like a fun event to see."
"Yeah, it was wild."
"Did you travel all the way out there just for it?"
"No, I worked production."
"Oh, how cool! Would you like a receipt."
"No."
"Have a good day."
"You too."

The next morning I needed coffee,
and a few things for lunch,
and a way to strain
the massage oil I was infusing.
Again, as the automatic door
parted she greeted me as before.
A moment of careful study
before eyes a-flash with recognition
and a warm smile I did my best to return.
I grabbed my things and came to the aisle.
There they stood chatting.
I heard snippets of words,
but I'm not one to intrude
"Sorry for the real talk" she said.
"That's the only way to talk." I nodded my head

I didn't say how my past few weeks
contained realer words than I heard them speak,
how I had to navigate the alleys
of bickering and emotional valleys,
of overdoses and institutionalizations,
of kidney failures and hospitalizations.

"So what are you making...?" she trailed on.
"Oh, pasta or something." My response.
"Pasta and...jelly?" She asked pointing to the cloth
so aptly labelled jelly cloth.
"Nah, man, I've got to filter the coconut oil.
I infused some herbs into the oil.
Now I have to get them out."
"That makes sense. I remember you buying the oil.
Isn't coconut oil amazing?"
"It truly is a miracle."
I can't place the look in her eye.
Do I remind her of another guy?

And while I'd like to get to know her
I've learned to be cautious with a stranger.
'Cause you never really know
from where they're coming
or where they'd like to go.
Maybe I'll head back tomorrow,
buying bread or lord only knows,
but I've been strung along,
strung out,
hung up
to dry
too many times
to have the audacity
to try.

Beauty is limited, the body is fleeting.
Lips, hair, ******* and thighs are misleading.
Ah, but a glance; that wordless connection!
Ah, but a gaze; that soundless confession!

I don't need a figure hand-crafted by God;
no transient physicality to poke and to ****.
Where is the person who will look in my eyes
and learn of my silence without surprise?

Words can't express the depths of existence;
but great walls will tumble with little persistence.
Sit in this quiet, serene place with me.
Look in my eyes, and see what you see.

I've sailed the seas of sorrow
and scaled the cliffs of fear.
I've lazed around this meadow
in every season of the year.

It has got me wondering:
Where would I like to go?
'Cause my soul, it feels like wandering
where my footsteps do not know.

In life I feel like loving
In love I feel like lying.
In truth I feel like moving,
'cause if I'm moving I'm not dying.

Since before this time's beginning
we've been rolling down a road.
When it feels like ending
something adds another load.

Whether you're whispering discretely
or screaming loud and bold,
an angel's choir will greet ye
before palaces of gold.

In life I feel like loving
In love I feel like lying.
In truth I feel like moving,
'cause if I'm moving I'm not dying.

So raise your voice in proclamation,
raise your voice for all to hear.
Sing your songs in declaration
to the time that must appear.

Don't be fearful of the future,
don't grieve the ancient pasts.
Fix love up with sutures
and pray that stitching lasts.

You're in the belly of the beast
but don't let it get you down.
You're in the belly of the beast
and no one can see you frown.

See how they look at you?
They'll try to ***** you in.
Is there anything you can do
to make it out again?

You're in the belly of the beast,
try not to make a sound.
You're in the belly of the beast,
but soon you will be found.

Hear how they laugh at you,
they'll fill you up with doubt.
But don't forget what they hold true
is something you can laugh about.

You're in the belly of the beast,
but don't let your spirit fall.
You're in the belly of the beast,
listen for your call.

Still they can't sleep,
though time marches on.
Specters of a distant past,
I can see they don't belong.

These ghosts and ghouls
all playing games
inside a broken house,
with me inside
-- trapped inside --
searching for a way out.

I want to flee;
this place is not for me.
But I'm trapped on this wheel
denying all I feel.

Sunlight sneaks inside
through bent and broken rafters.
I know that dawn
is just beyond
these bent and broken rafters.

Beyond the insect hives,
with crystal hearts in hexagonal designs.
Beyond the jeweled terraces
of fractured, shifting carapaces.

Inside the mind of time's design --
this fragmented mosaic of mine.
Inside the bedroom of she
whose sole desire's the end of me.

There is but a breeze bearing a curse;
the beginning of my thoughts, undone:
"The truth behind the universe?
One does not equal one."

Bright shining light in the darkness of night;
Shapeless transcendence comes billowing out,
Filling my head with six figures of peace.

What could I call you, if your name's my own?
Tracing the silence and words leading home,
I stepped out the door and wandered alone.

But this bright shining light in the farness of sight
Unties my wings so my thoughts can take flight
And beckons me on with dreams ever more.

What could I call you if my thoughts didn't soar?
Facing the waters, embracing the shore,
I stepped off the moor and wandered alone.

But this bright shining light on the horizon,
I beg you to tell me who I am
for then I may know who you are.

I want to be the last bough bending by a brook as a dozen on-lookers overstate the understood in a field of frantic fever-fighters fixated on the moon. Stop, drop, break a neck, then lay in bed and recollect the days  before the disconnect when you kept your bright eyes side-lined in complexified complacency while the golden winged effigy decayed into degen'****. Multi-state probes propelled by a whim skitter like arachnids on the surface of your skin with words like a finger pointing at the sun that stop making sense before their job lies done. Who now will step down celestially with alchemical agility just to let The Spirit flow through them with exponential intensity as imaginal orthogonality skips with divinity? When'll be best to choose to confuse and diffuse every up-tight, no-sight tool on the loose then flak shrapnel to the castle as a billion petty hassles gathered up and coalesced as interrupted innocence? 'Til then these strides keep pace with the center of the storm, just inside the whirling swarm of wailing souls abandoned and forlorn.

There's some sanity
in these circumstances
that slide through my view:

"Is it possible to live like you?"
He asked without knowing what
he meant, "because I want to know."

She laughed, still hugging a stranger,
"Inside you're very busy, calculating.
Only alone-ness can give true happiness.

Create some silence within,
for silence is love; and where
there is emptiness, love can flow."

"But how can I love so much?"
He spat his snide remark.
"No love can be inexhaustible."

"For me there is no other-ness;
every one is an extension
of my Self." She smiled.

"All the love I give is returned;
every drop taken is returned to the source.
It is inexhaustible because nothing is wasted."

I've lost myself to noises
uttered mindless in my drunkenness,
but what was spoken I cannot even say.
For now's the morning after
and the undertaker's laughter
reminds me that I'm not worth
the sweat he lost to dig the grave.
I could lie and say I'm fine,
but the truth would stay the same,
'cause I'm incapable of tryin'
when everything I do is lost in vain.
There's always someone better,
someone bolder, someone smarter,
someone committed to their arrogance
that makes you think they know the way.
I know that I don't know
the inner workings of my soul,
and my body's slowly rusting
like a clock out in the cold.
I could cry out to the heavens
but my calls would be ignored,
for they're too busy flowing sweetly
through the kings and crooked dealings,
spreading like illusions on the floor.
I think I've withered in the sunlight,
dying for relief, for someone who knows
the hidden, hopeful things to say.
Things that lift you by your spirit
so your heart can know and feel it
and, love, I know that someone isn't me.

Come, take me home, or at least somewhere that isn't here.
Sing songs of hope, of melancholic beauty ringing clear,
those that sound out a tone to attempt acoustic therapy
to reach a halted heart hanging heavy off the mezzanine
like a man in a field waiting for the wind to whisk him up,
spiral to heaven, promise endless nectar from a golden cup,
waiting for the sky to erupt into dizzy dreams of summer love,
spun out on perfection of the angel that he's dreaming of;
like a boat out at sea waiting for the shining surf surging on,
rising up to greet the cherubim who flirts with dawn
unafraid of endless rivers of idle talk and passersby
for everything's enchanted by the company of azure eyes.
Come, take me home, or at least somewhere I've never been.
Whisper tales of honesty, of shattered hearts and broken skin.

Should I remember what I could forget?
Of days palled by fetid gossamer crowns?
Of this skeletal hand clutching a cigarette?
Of living in mockery amongst circus clowns?

When fabric tears in criss-crossed patterns
and crystal castles recede -- disguised --
I hang, with heavy heart, these lanterns
to guide beyond such self-demise.

I created this feeling,
synthesized it from the depths.
Now my ego's been sent reeling
while my soul's eternal slept.

From extreme-isms oscillations,
first conditional love then none,
this pervasive vacillation
makes me feel I've come undone.

Can I balance give and take
with trepidation's breath?
Would it still be as fake
as giving up what's left?

Idealization's paved the road
from a half-remembered morn.
It's *******'s been the mode
and my soul's what's been torn.

I can't decide which choice to choose
to free me from all of this.
I could set the Furies loose,
if only I knew that help exists.

My problems have grown too massive,
so much larger than my strength.
Perhaps my approach's been too passive
and too drawn out in its length.

I'll try to align my focus, will, and intention,
but my authority is lacking.
My creative mind has no invention,
and of myself I give no backing.

Once my decision has been made,
I'll go forward or be drawn.
Progress's steps will never fade
so let's get on with it, or get it on.

I'll surrender to the task at hand,
bearing knowledge and responsibility.
Cast towards me all reprimand
which I'll greet without hostility.

I'll search out far and wide
for a consistent love's stability.
I'll find it wherever it may hide,
and nurture to the best of my ability.

The birds are singing arias
while monarchs ride the breeze
and I sit beneath the wisteria
doing exactly as I please.
The jasmine's finally blooming.
White petals cascade as gentle rain.
With an innocent view that's unassuming
there's magic within the mundane
that lets you hold and know a softer mind
without the pressures of success
where each moment's a jewel to find
beyond unhappiness and stress.
 Two people were walking in the harbor.
Not hand in hand but joined by words.
Their easy speech of friend or partner
like the unfettered song of birds.

I'd rather be away, alone
on the cusp of a silent sunrise
captured in the golden dawn
as frothing waves gnash grey
below the horizon's arching bow
than to be stunned and deafened,
clutching ringing ears to muffle
the heartless, hollow echo
of 10,000 vacant farewells.
It's better if you leave silent as a thief
packing every fleeting memory
you can stuff into your sleeve.
Because, when you go and say farewell,
it feels like you're departing into eternity.

Icicles dribble down the tip
of my nose as frost fogs
the humid corridors of my mind.

Tundras yawn before me
and sea-foam green ribbons
helically orbit one another.

Streaks of yellow roll between
the spiraling bows in the sky.
Stars twinkle slowly, just beyond.

An icy howl jars the halcyon
serenity as a harbinger of
hardships and blizzards.

But I am not of this.
I carry a hearth in my chest
and open my arms to embrace.

Ah, and now she steps down
from the gathering clouds;
her gown rippling as it unfurls.

Her aurichalcite eyes echo unsung
songs until I can't bare the separation.
My unstrung heart beats on, begging

for another verse from her slightly parted
-- but how much they open! --
lips lying, parabolic, atop her chin.

She meets my pleas succinctly:
her out-stretched hand offered
in tribute to another kindred soul.

My mind is fixated, not a thought
intrudes on my contemplation
of her exotic inebriation.

Does she know what she's done?
How every movement makes
me stutter, slightly, shuddering

(unavoidably)? How could she
understand this intoxication
which I don't even hope to know?

I suppose that's all man can hope for:
a single day, maybe not more than an hour,
where "love" can even be considered.

She asked me if I knew your name --
I think it every day.
At night it comes to speak to me
and echoes through my dream.

I've seen the sun set seven summers
in the indigo of night.
I've known the moon to whisper secrets
given enough time.

And I've been made to see
that it could just be me
giving too much time to fantasy,
hung up on make-believe.

I feel it growin' back again.
It's seepin' through my skin.
I thought I cut the root,
but it's bloomin' from the shoot.

She's tryin' to make me feel a fool
right when I finally found my cool.
She won't pull me outta control,
'cause she don't own this soul.

If you've got somethin' to say,
don't bite your tongue and spit on me.
If you've got somethin' to say,
don't choke on what might not even be.

Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
The ancient sandcastles
speckling the shore have crumbled,
grain by grain, desiccated from
seasons in the sun.
I've walked impacted corridors
with shells as cobblestones.
I know the tide has receded
lower ever than before.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
'Though the coral architecture
is weathered, bleached and barren.
The thrones sit vacant
hissing sighs like salty grit.
I've left the ghostly kingdoms
for the waterside, to sit.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
First a toe, then ankle's depth.
Then hands and hips and shoulders.
Before my eyes drop below the line
I see the sun's farewell.
Somewhere between the rising and falling,
my perspective lost its bearing
but the sun is softly sitting, shining out to me
as a beacon to the joining of two infinities.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning
in this darkened atmosphere
with filtered, softened rays above.
While there may be monsters somewhere,
they don't seem to bother me.
In this place I move around, almost invisibly.
Sometimes I hear a friendly song,
or see an outline pass nearby.
While I'm alone, it's never lonely
because this ocean is alive.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
I'm not even lost adrift.

Do what you can
or get out the way.
But don't lend your hand
if you can't take the weight.

Don't think of me, babe.
Be righteous and free, babe.
Swim madly in love or in doubt.
I won't be around.
Never making a sound.
Not here, neither inside nor out.
If the past haunts you,
with sorrow it daunts you,
gather your soul as a scream or a shout.
In that new twilight,
the gleaming new sky light,
you'll understand what it's all about.

Honey, you're my darling,
but do you know
what it is I'm starting?

Honey, you're my baby,
but do you know
what it is I'm saying?

Honey, you're a doozy,
but do you know
what it is I'm doing?

Honey, you're not ready,
and you don't know
where it is I'm heading.

Will walked to his car, alone.
Another late night given to
that thankless, soul-stealing
excuse for employment.

As he opened his car door,
a gun being cocked
sounded behind him.

Then a voice:
"Give me the car
and your cash."

Will laughed:
"I've got nothing worth taking.
**** me and be done with it."

The hole in his belly
didn't hurt nearly as
bad as he thought it would.

A woman heard the shot,
and came running over
after the murderer had fled.

She said:
"I'm Maggie, don't worry.
Help is on the way."

Will awoke in a hospital.
He stared at Maggie,
and reasoned something like this:

"Well, I got shot; I'm probably dead.
And the silhouette of your hair
against the window looks
an awful lot like a halo."

She blushed:
"I waited all night for someone
to come visit you; to make sure
you were okay."

Then truth in reply:
"I've got no one and nothing.
You'll wait there forever if you're
looking for someone who cares."

She frowned:
"That's not true!
Clearly I care about you."

Will, in disbelief:
"So it appears.
I guess there's a first for everything."

She held his hand:
"But I've got work to go to.
I'll be back in the evening.
I'm glad you're alive."

Will nodded.
Things were certainly
changing for the better.

Maggie left.
An intern entered,
staring at a clipboard.

The intern, to herself:
"Well, 'Will' is certainly
a lot like 'Bill'.

And it's only penicillin;
what's the worst that
could happen?"

A few moments later,
Will died of a massive
allergic reaction.

Oh well.
Easy come, easy go.

The earth, as it is,
is not a place I have been.
What is this and what is that?
Who will cast the final act?
Where are you and where am I?
Do we live before we die?
Because there's life and then there's death
ripe with strife and short of breath.
Then there's lies and there's truth.
You better hide when they shout: "Shoot!"
Should we duck or should we run
when we're stuck before the gun?
There's fear and then there's joy.
So hold me near, don't be coy.
I'd like to love before I go.

The sharpest intellect
cannot pierce the screen;
the fabric remains
but a hair's breadth away.

To pursue
brings endless folly;
to remain
brings more of the same.

You've been atop
the highest pole.
You've stood tip-toed,
and stretched.

But can you return
to the modern world
and still maintain
your breath?

"Would you like to share my umbrella?"
A voice said behind me,
quiet and reserved,
testing uncertainty with a modest proposal.
It was raining, after all.
Maybe I looked a little forlorn
walking alone along the path.
My pants were soaked and
I was contemplating the pattern
that liquid found through my pants.
Top of the thigh,
middle of the shin,
top of the foot.
I stopped and looked at the voice.
Her head was wrapped with a scarf,
dark brown pools reflected
through the opening of cloth.
"Sure." I said, and stepped inside.
She fussed with the umbrella, said
"This umbrella leaks,
I don't think it was made for the rain.
It must be one of those sun umbrellas.
My head keeps getting wet."
She unwrapped her scarf,
her straight dark hair fell out.
She patted her head.
She said her name.
Maybe I should feel ashamed
that I don't recall her name.
Me: "Where are you off to?"
Her: "Jack Baskin. You?"
Me: "Core West."
Her: "Where's that? By Kerr?"
Me: "The parking structure."
Her: "Oh, I know where that is.
           Do you know what time it is?"
Me: "I dunno, 11:45?" I checked the time.
        "Oh, wow, 11:58."
Her: "I don't have class until 12:30."
Me: "What class?"
Her: "Spanish 4."
And we talked in similar patterns
for the rest of the walk.
She liked the rain, and so did I.
She wished she stayed home.
So did I.
I showed her a path in the forest,
past the makeshift hut
that habitual smokers crafted
to hide with their habits.
I showed her the bench,
she was pleased with surprise.
Her: "How old are you?"
Me: "Oh, twenty..." I hesitated,
doing mental math "...four. You?"
Her: "Twenty-one."
Me: "Ah, I see you're surviving your twenty-first."
Her, laughing: "I lost my ID when I turned 21.
       I didn't do much drinking on my birthday.
       I don't like the clubs, or bars."
I didn't like them either.
Me: "What're you doing when you graduate?"
Her: "I want to join the Peace Corps.
          I want to travel around the world,
         and help people. It's why I study biology."
Me: "Yeah, travel is great. You should go do that."
Her: "Well, I told my parents. They don't want me to.
          I was born in the Philippines.
          My parents immigrated here.
          They want me to be happy and stationary here.
          Not traveling the world, you know?"
I knew.
She reached into her bag, pulled out a banana.
Her: "Would you like some of this banana?"
Me: "Sure."
We talked a bit more, about the dreads
of dealing with box-checking pre-meds,
of the work-load for a graduate student,
of what it's like up in Arcata.
Twenty minutes disappeared
quicker than is fair.
We left towards the engineering hall.
We parted at the parking structure.
Her: "Farewell, it was nice talking to you, Dylan."
Me: "Aye, it was a pleasure. Farewell."
I felt bad I didn't remember her name,
but I'll remember the unsolicited kindness,
and try to pass it along all the same.

Exalted child of Gilgamesh,
what has devoured you today?
Were you so thrown off your center
that you gnash your teeth and pray?
Be careful who you call out to,
be cautious of what becomes,
for the gods are jealous parents
and the titans eat their sons.
But, it's good to seek assistance
when the transition begins
from an isolated wilderness
to the company of friends.

Standing in the lot,
pointer finger in the air,
praying what I've got
will help me get in there.

I'm looking for a miracle
to get to the show.
The band is incredible,
listen to them go.

My friends sold my ticket
for a tab and a ride.
Talk about wicked
and killing my vibe.

Then a man walking by
whisperin' so I could hear:
"You'll see The Dead while alive
if you take this. Here."

Fire burning on the horizon.
Rising smoke eclipsing the sun
riding on the wind without an aim.
If nothing changed, it wouldn't be the same.

How many words can you fit into your mind
telling you what you'll lose, what you'll leave behind?
You're tearing out your roots trying to find food
but it'll be much sweeter if you wait for the fruit.

How many days can you fit into your life
sitting in a sweaty room trying to stay on time?
Are you losing your days in the arms of the night?
When the stars are all shining are you bathing in the light?

How many times have you sat in reverie
rejoicing in the moment and letting it be?
Lately I've been thinking how I seem
to only be as real as the eddy of a stream.

Fire burning on the horizon.
Rising smoke eclipsing the sun
riding on the wind without an aim.
If nothing changed, it wouldn't be the same.

Do you know what happened to me?
I was alone on a terrible sea.
Storms on the ocean, storms in my head,
feeling like I'm better off dead.

Now I am floating on air
just to have heard that you care.

It came to pass I was left behind,
a nameless nothing, a victim of time.
Confused and hopeless, unable to feel
with no way of knowing what's real.

Now I am floating on air
just to have heard that you care.

I was learning how to survive,
chasing sensation to feel alive.
I did what I could, do you understand?
In the end, I'm only a man.

Now I am floating on air
just to have heard that you care.

I realize that it's been a while
since a love has made me smile
but when you're around it's all I do.
I've got to be careful when a dream comes true.

Now I am floating on air
just to have heard that you care.

This one's for the Queen of Limbo
caught in between a "yes" and a "no."
Why are you so ill-defined?
What's mine is yours if you were mine.
Tell me something I don't know;
plant your seeds, then watch them grow.

While you're young, your mind's alive
and as you age you watch it die.
This is what I've got for you,
all the ways to make it through.
Is it Truth that we exist
as not a thing that's more than this?

I can see it in your eyes --
your fate and mine are intertwined.

It's another scarred heart from the flames of love.
You tried to do right, but you've gone and done wrong.
Why'd you play around where you didn't belong?
Now it's time to pack up and move on.

The horizon's bending backwards,
stretching sideways 'cross a vision
of glimm'ring hieroglyphic superstitions.

My body's feeling heavy
but my psyche just won't let me
return alone into the void.

No voice can seem to reach me
although their pleas beseech me;
can't I stay right here a little more?

I'd never stop to question
this painless vivisection
of what my life is for.

Error code: PXZ003-2-b:
"WAIT"

Blinking blindly,
unaware of absurd metaphysics,
the device flashes its advice.

For years now, probably; no one's sure.
The rest of the machinery's in pieces;
save this one brilliant gem of advice,

slowly sipping energy through
a dingy solar panel:

just enough to keep going

A red light blips
on the untended prophet,
yellow caution tape draping
impotently in shreds --

although there is an allure
to what fabrics conceal.

He sees none of this.
At first.

He arrives in a huff,
swearing and panting.
Pacing nervously, he lights
a spliff and throws his head back.

"I know I haven't been around much,"
he speaks in a vaguely upward direction,
"but some people say you're listening,
and that you take requests."

He laughs, flicks some ash,
and lets a sigh creep out.

"Just. Just. **** it, I don't know.
Give me a sign, anything. I'll listen."

He inhales and snuffs the roach
on his sole.
The serenity of stillness marches
in as a pallbearer with an empty casket.

A red light catches his
peripherals.

He walks to the device,
removes the dress,
and uncovers divinity.

How could he deny the voice of fate?
He waits.

As she lifts her nose from her notes
I wonder down which stream she floats.

Does she fancy pastel summer sunsets
whose calmly colored clouds conceal
a simple lapis blue beyond?

Does she set her sights further, forever far away --
are there glimmering galaxies gushing light and gravitation
while solar systems spin and dance in divine inebriation?

Perhaps her discretion is more discerning
and towards all minutiae her mind is turning.
Are cells pulsing gradients, chemically communicating
with energetic electric magic undulating?

Maybe those electrons evoke enticing excitations
and her shining silhouette's mere photonic  emanations.
Atoms flicker, fidgeting 'tween fleeting forces:
Protons, quarks, gluons, and other shifting sources.

Ah, but, now I find myself gently pondering:
because I know exactly where she is
I've no idea where she's wandering! (To an arbitrary precision.)

Grind it up, pack it down, fill it up to the brim.
Light it up, burn it down, all I can do is grin.
Happy smoke, pleasant scenes, filling my mind with peace.
Lazy smoke, hazy dreams, flowing out on the breeze.

Circles all spinning in front of my eyes.
Circles just spinning unveiling the wise.
When suddenly, to my surprise,
Maya stepped out from behind her disguise.

Shimmering rays falling off of her face.
Glimmering rays shining out of her grace.
Calling me forward, away from this place.
Away from my body, towards the light I race.

Grind it up, pack it down, fill it up to the brim.
Light it up, burn it down, all I can do is grin.
Happy smoke, pleasant scenes, filling my mind with peace.
Lazy smoke, hazy dreams, flowing out on the breeze.

Hate me, my darling.
I know I've done you wrong.
Hate me, my darling,
for the trouble I have caused.

I'm grabbing my belongings.
I'm leaving today.
I'm grabbing my belongings
and you can't make me stay.

Hate me, my darling.
I know I've been unfair.
Hate me, my darling,
for the times I wasn't there.

Trouble won't find me
and all I have earned.
Trouble won't find me;
those lessons I have learned.

Hate me, my darling.
I know I'm not the one.
Hate me, my darling,
now that I've said we're done.

Know that I'll be lonely
without you next to me.
Know that I'll be lonely,
but at least I'll be free.

Honey, you're coming on too strong.
The way that you're hanging on my sleeve
like a cuff-link that don't belong
is making me feel that I should leave.

Honey, you're making moves too soon.
Why are your words so sweet
when we only met this afternoon
and you're pursuing relentlessly?

Honey, you're standing way too close
like a shadow rising off the floor
and the smell of perfume in my nose
is making me ill like none before.