my heart comes undone
[i] carry my joy on the left
how beautiful to be.
[i] carry my pain on the right
while you are away
state of emergency
is where i want to be

[i] thought that i could organize freedom
our love in a ball of yarn

there's definitely no logic
to human behaviour

setting the stage:* driving through this tiny southern town i call home, i saw a man.
out the window i saw him, mid 60's, walking up to a small white box-shaped house.
a word, with no obvious association to this man in particular, came to thought.
the word: complacent.
i proceeded to conjure up an entirely (insert appropriate emotion here) story about this man.  
(the story of this man being a symbol for [what i believe to be the majority] of humankind.)
the entirely (insert appropriate emotion here) story goes:

his entire adult life, the man has spent each day working hard at a job not his passion .
this job has enabled him to provide food and shelter to his family for 40 years.  
as a young person, his face lit up when he spoke of his dreams and aspirations.
the light has since gone out.
he is not unhappy, no. (complacent)  
he has accepted this is the way of life.
he works 8-5pm, gets home and watches a bit of television, eats supper with his family, perhaps smokes a pipe, goes to sleep.
and repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat,repeat...for forty years.  
he never gets angry, never raises his voice or fist.

now here is me.  
my life is an emotional rollercoaster.  propelled by my heart. one second of blissed-out lightness is followed by deep-gut sadness is followed by adrenaline-fired passion is followed by bone-hollowness is followed by complete calm is followed by intense panic... and on and on for 25 years.

complacency is something creative minds envy during the hardest times.
the days of existential crisis
the sleepless panicked nights of 'what am i doing with my life
the tender kisses transformed to screaming matches with our respective beloved.

i need something to wake up for each morning.
i need art like my lungs oxygen.
i need feeling too much like my body blood.
and in the hard times, if i were to try complacency for awhile,
surely i would cease to function.  

and surely a deep-hearted sadness consumed me as i thought of the 'man' and of all of the people living perfectly complacently on this earth.

and then again, is there no admiration to be found in this 'man' who has worked so hard, poured some much sweat and blood into a job not his passion so that he can provide for his family?  the tears swell in my eyes as i type these last lines.

warm maple
syrup y sweet
sugar cane sap
tobogganing down your barbed white
rib cage d
birds croon no sweeter a
tune d
up broke down jalopy such as i to make sweet
cream between your wet
heat ed discussion of
how much is too much?
after all, diabetes is a reality for many.

expansive untold body revealed in moonlit splendor.
obscure and nebulous.
seductive and serene.
offers relief from the swirling, ever-whirling thoughts in my head.
if i were to desend, and beneath each crest remain, i could escape
existence.

my eyes: see nothing, yet see everything.
my arms: reach out and feel nothing, yet each fingertip electric.
thighs, knees, calves, ankles, feet, remain solid and strong.
propel me forward sans fatigue.
they are present, powerful.
carry me.
carry me.
these other parts, they are at home here.
my back softens, each rib *dissolved.

setting the stage:*  *an elementary school art classroom of apprx. 20 first graders.
At the front stands the art teacher, and nearby, the art teacher's apprehensive assistant (who, as we will later learn, also happens to be her lover).  Both teacher and assistant sport short, shaved heads and don 'mens' apparel.

'Friends, today we have an assistant  here to help us finish our clay masks.  Some of you know may know Coach L from soccer. Let's give her a warm hello.'
'Hi Coach L!' Twenty first graders scream.
What ensues? a result of the fact that children are naturally curious beings.

'ms. k, coach L is your son.  right?'         
 no, she is four years younger, but i am pretty sure four-year-olds do not
 yet have the ability to procreate          
'she your daughter then?'                                                  ­           
 still no
'is that your brother?'                                   
 my brother lives in Wisconsin
'that ur sister?'                   
i don't have a sister
'ms. k. y'all twins?'                                                          ­   
i don't have a twin
'she ur mom?'                                                  
my mom has curly hair like me
'your dad?'                                                            ­       
 my dad is much taller
'she your friend?'                                                         ­            
...........................kinda like that
'you her aunt?'                                                           ­               
'her uncle?'                                                          ­                  
'her grandma?'
'well that's ur cousin then.'          
'cuz you both have short hair and those baggy
clothes and those holes in your ears and
that same tattoo on your wrist.'                       
                                  ­                                            
no, and for the record she's not my uncle's brother's son's monkey twice-removed either                          
                                             ­                                           
'i may not know what she is, but i know what she absolutely couldn't be.
she absolutely, most cetainly, never-ever could be your lover because my understanding is she's a she and you're a she.  
....or she's a he and you're a he.
but either way that don't add up.'

i am fighting a disease,
so i became a ******.
my drug of choice: just to run.
to run each day with an unfeigned grit.

the medicine for my mind.
no need for a doctor to fill the prescription.
my morphine.
my high.
ease my anxious mind
and uplift my heavy heart.
calm floods my insides,
immersed in quiet rapture.
****** exhaustion settles in
and silences the disease-
those incessant, enslaving urges that regulate my every move
are replaced by stillness.
this
is bliss.

bearing our souls
barefooted, our soles.
bearing the weight
of only our bare
naked souls.

MY INSIDES ARE BURNING WITH DESIRE
NOT WITH PHYSICAL DESIRE, BUT WITH THE DESIRE TO
PRESS MY SOUL AGAINST YOURS.
TO SHARE IN OUR SOULS AS
PEOPLE SHARE IN A MEAL.
FROM A PLACE SO DEEP WITHIN ME,
DEEPER AND MORE LIQUID THAN THE
CORE OF THIS VERY EARTH
HOLDING UP MY BONES. SO THEY CAN
BREAK CRUMBLE
                                   DISINTEGRATE
INTO YOU.
MY BONES I THINK THEY ARE MEANT TO
BREATHE LIFE INTO YOUR EYES.

alien in a fish bowl.
speckled with shame
squirming under
the microscope
of
speculation and
imposed so-called
'morals' of
those who
take it upon
themselves to
regulate
others.

jaws disengage to drop further still
to the ground.
eyes shot out needles
to pierce every exposed
inch of
flesh on
my body.

eyes wide
swell like an ocean wave
from all sides.

there is a permanent furrow in my brow.
lips downturned at the slightest
potential threat.

at 4 i was invincible
at 5 i could fly
at 6 i could talk to wolves
at 7 i was one with nature
at 8 i drew shamelessly
at 9 i was a trapeze artist
at 10 an archaeologist
at 11 i braided grass
at 12 i crushed berries to make paint
at 13 i died a little inside.
and a little more each year thereafter.

the days bleed
as I do with the moon
cut into shapes
unrecognizable
I hold them in my hand with a furrowed brow.

the leaves are falling in slow motion.
the leaves are f a l l i n g  i n  s l o w  m o t i o n

T. Robbins tells of autumn, it breeds the birth of death
so the smell of the birth of death lingers
on the ground, under our bare feet.

when winter passes
the leaves will float back up to the trees
and then death is dying.

the leaves become alive with green
the sun warms winter bones

so the smell of life spreads from the trees to the ground
where I stand dying
in slow motion.
we are all d y i n g  i n  s l o w  m o t i o n

have you ever found yourself out running in the sweltering midday sun and you keep thinking '******* it's hot out here, I wonder if anyone will find my body when I pass out..'

and then some nondescript thought-altering point occurs in which you decide to not only embrace the heat, but become one with it.  you feel your body melting into its' thickness, you breathe it in and it fuels you

you are transformed into solar energy that propels your legs to stride and arms to pump and your heart to heal.

wake up, get out of bed
***. wash your hands. not clean enough, wash again.  Use two pumps of soap. didn't get sudsy enough, wash again.
do your stretches, **** stop. do them in the right order. for the correct amount of time. **** stop.  you have to start all over again.  
take your vitamins.  don't forget any, it will be treacherous.
drink a tall glass of water. finish the entire thing. maybe just one more glass to ensure your health.  something bad could happen if you don't finish that water..
Go for a run. Good, this is helpful, calms the tendencies.  Exhaustion of the body gives you clarity of mind to fight it today.
Done running, stretch.  Gotta count correctly, stretch the right way. **** stop.  Start again, didn't do it right, missed a step, missed a count.  Stretch again from the top.
Inside, wash up. wash once more to be sure. Scrub harder, bleed.
drink another glass of water.
Begin preparing a breakfast.  Don't eat too much.  Don't eat too much.  Don't eat too much.

And it's only 10am.
exhaustion.

baby feet inked and printed
baby do you know this paper was once a tree?  i touched your feet to it and it breathed life into your soul

(many years later)
bare feet meet the earth beneath  
in patterned timing
breath ah
breath ah
breath ah
breath ah
life flows in
through the souls
of
barefeet.
breath ah
breath ah
breath ah
breath ah
bokomaru.
the mingling of soles.
breath ah
breath ah
breath ah
breath ah
here, i am animal.
hear me roar.
bare teeth.
bear feet
baby.

flannel's a good color on you.
flannel is a memory of a childhood.
wholesome, natural.  deeply rooted in the earth.
***** hands and ***** feet.
track in mud.
never have I felt cleaner.
i want to feel the earth on my skin.
i want to share that heartbeat.  
i want to love like the golden wheat fields.
i want to be loved like an old oak forest.

carry my joy on the left.                                      carry my pain on the right.
                                    the devil collects it with a grin,
                                         our love in a ball of yarn.
[and] lavender ribbons of rain sang,
ridding my heart of mortal fight.
                        so try[ing] to be somebody, so try[ing] to feel somebody,
                        so try[ing] to leave somebody, so hard to be somebody
      [so] rock me mama like the wind and the rain,
      rock me mama like a southbound train.
                                    and if you're still breathing, you're the lucky one[s],
                                'cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.

on days like this i find myself needing humans.
surrounded by beings, yet never a time when i feel more distant.
human beings hurt me
a lot of the time.
but only because i let them.
i am human.

my humaness hurts me
more of the time.

blessed is the ungodly
in the seat of the scornful
delight in day and night
and by the water
Prosper
like the wind
Stand
'fore the way
Perish

I waited and heard clay feet go
And in my mouth fear and trust
Is that man proud to lie?
My wonderful thoughts
if I would speak them, they are desire.
burnt and required.
I come written.
Delight within my heart.
My lips have hid.
Within my heart, I have concealed truth.
Tender truth
preserve me.
head. heart. soul. Seek
love (art).

Of mites and of moss.
Of glorious green-hued lullaby
Soft flesh envelope and spirit dreams tingle