Don Oct 5
He

He -
He’s a disaster in terms
“Mind over matter” but
He doesn’t mind to matter so much
Just anyone could care less or “get it”
What’s to get?

Yet he takes his passing heart to bed
The bastards had it worse before
“It’s all in his head” but
He’s long past being dead
The matters never settled, now and here
Does it matter that he’s hurt?
He’s cursed: It matters for what it’s worth

Disconnect.
Don Sep 23

God, do you talk to us? Do you speak our language?
Did you take our fears to hell to die?
Did my death become yours upon the cross?
Christ, talk to us.
Us who suffer in the layers of our hearts.
I saw you meet the leper where he is,
I saw you restore a blind man's eyes,
Christ, talk,
And restore the eyes of our hearts,
The sanity of our minds.

Don Sep 23

I will continually
abandon my craft
to the cloud and the ground
Casting off my crass talk
in tall grass; or top mountains.
I can never
know where it goes
But I will fashion every word
from the contents of
my soul bearing soul
to an audience
hopefully listening
to something
marginally relatable.
I care not enough to stop
even when screaming
from a position
of destitution.
I'll make Art how I want to
I'll make Art how I don't want to
I'll make Art and abandon it to it's a resting place;
Then cough, then walk.
I will never create something beautiful enough
I will never create something loud enough
I will never create something enough
But I won't stop.
And somehow I find that comforting.

stream of consciousness
Don Sep 19

My friend, I've always been jealous of the way you connect to others,
Hoping by nature of knowing you that quality would grow in me,
But that's never been my way.

I've been thinking a lot about my place in the world:
Wondering how to meet a person not a face,
But my fears turn faces to scowls in my periphery.
I can't bear to know for sure.

I've got blinders on my eyes,
Walking down hallways sideways.
I don't think a lot of people understand, but that's ok.
They don't have to,
I've always been like this.

I'm getting tired these days.
Drifting from space to space
Fearing, thinking, and waiting for epiphany to touch my forehead.
Hoping fear shall wane to my will, while I wane unwillfully to its persistence.

Don Sep 11

"Welcome," I'm a door-mat, store-bought, made for one thing commodity

"Wel----," walk-on, pay no mind to, the half-worn word on the bristlely surface; Don't stop.

"-------" says the object, as you stomp all the dust from your feet.

Don Sep 7

I write of what I'm made of
a pen of threads
and lines between-
fabric strips and staple rips,
stitches and threads throughout, within me
I write with what I'm made of
ragdoll-madness tossed between
turmoil and tears
and whatever care beats
loudest in my textile heart

Don Sep 2

I stumble over heart-ache,
I pace upon the floor,
then fall upon my fears  
into the invasive thorns
of these past eleven years.

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