hum and feel the resonance
the pulsing movement of life
animating force of being
emanating from somewhere deep,
the parallel to the core of the everything  
the pulsing, the expansion and contraction
the vivid breath that so fills
these cavernous hungry lungs
concentric circles of vitality
cycles of comfort and risk
we vacillate in and out of vulnerability
witnesses to wonder incarnate

echo and bend to break silence and sift radiance from mismatched oddity as streams of undercurrents waft through city streets to open windows of kind homes with vivid breath of cosmic immediacy wrapped in mundane happenings we are all just simmering in our unkempt souls finding cavities between our ribs and forging safety between boulders of fear we ache to feel the sensations of the perfection we taste on the first wind of spring and yet the fingerprints of trauma press firm into our bellies and yet somatic we cannot ignore our human legacy as our bodies protect the very seeds of mystery.

not everything need be gentle,
there is beauty in force
that so enwraps the vital voice of
our inner world,
when passion spins in
centripetal force of energetic sensation,
trust that the center will find
home again
but not now, not then,
not in the midst of this spring storm of
bitter anger
that must purge the ground of yesterday’s
grime and stale memory.

let me walk you home,
love,
your eyes soften and
bind to mine
and we set on
wordless
but filled with meaning
mutually understood

i long for space to fold in on itself
with perfect origami creases
to bring me to lay pressed and flat
next to you,
and what a beautiful intricate shape we could make
with our collapsed space,
learning to fold a home from disparate places.

two decades lay behind,
ahead, unnumbered days
hover in the mists of the unknown
suspended in shroud of pall and potential
But i will not dwell in the mists,
where centers are known to tip and lose
themselves
and no thing is distinguishable from no-thing

I will dwell instead
in the dark soil of the here,
which after settling and settling
is ploughed through, upturned
and peeled apart by the urgency of now
my flesh the earth body
that uproots and breaks open
and breaks, and breaks, and breaks

comfort is misunderstood
stagnant dark is black as death
the plough must come
to whisk light into this soil
even as i break
and break and break and break
I feel the sun pour through my cracks
and flood these raw sifted valleys

The splendor of magnitude gripped in a moment,
now is bursting at the seams,
the thread of steady logic unravels as
the sheets of sensation unveil the
silky boundlessness of time,
the paradox of infinite finitude, of finite infinity—

We exhale into the liminality between (un)certainties.
We find our rhythm to the music of experience
and we fall into ourselves, finding home between our ribs,
nestling into the cavity of being, we trip into each other,
fall in embrace, and rise in ecstasy of laughter.

Folding loving into aching,
Tasting euphonic resonance—
We are copper rays of light, exuberant !
flitting between the morning maple leaves,
we dance with the frolicsome tails of grass,
we hum in deep synchrony till the moon reflects our lily cheeks,
we taste the immanent stars and dive into
the phosphene galaxies behind our eyes.

The construct of measured days recedes
and there is only this brimming space to inhale
between certainties of light and dark
and we inhabit it with a bold stomp and a wild laugh.

Peel the then from now
Liberate the here from there
And then fly for breath

Delirium culminates to heat of genesis
As from the nidus of the chaotic moment
Emerges some lonely stalk of limber growth,
A bud...then a break
A break
A break! to bloom
Cerulean dress freckled with ivory
Plume and reach
To welcome light
And fuzz of bees

Dust like stars in the galaxy of this singular space
swirl and dance in the streak of window filtered light
this soupy universe swims with grace
and with effortless poise, reaches across vastness to
bring me into the womb of immediacy
where the red velvet moment is called home
like a mother calling the child in from neighborhood play
when the sun dips down beneath the cottonwood tree.
Ah, the cottonwood tree,
whose tufts would swirl and dance through wind
like summer snow
like a mothers knowing arms welcoming home
the grassy-kneed, mosquito-bit, bright-eyed child

full of play and serious laughter,
art is paradox incarnate in myth
pregnant with the past
birthing pangs of wonder into the wide
world, world make space for this new form,
open arms and kind eyes
let your questions swell with empathy,
cascade your inner mess and let it
bathe in vulnerable light of the honest gaze,
undress undress to the truth
and explore how gravity plays with form,
your form, his form, her form,
all form in space and embodying time

Bent man, still proud,
Dark pants, brown coat,
Firm belt, white socks,
Lopped gait, slow,
Slow,
No cane, yet
Places need going
Even and especially by the
Old.
I stand a pedestrian witness
To his crosswalk constitutional
It matters not to him
that the red sign blinks
With the eyes of onlookers
Who follow the icons
of social construction.
I feel something like pride
For the figure still bent,
Crossing,
But the pride is not mine
So I release it with an exhale
And hope it reaches some kind corner
Of this difficult world.

Stones,
Cobbled in concert
Burnished, to tell of years.
Mosaic streets that are
Subtlety percussive in their variance
Polished pebble instruments
Strummed by shoes and wheels to
Purr, murmur, then roar in resonance

Spindles, white, and notched with slate grey
Rise to meet, and blush to be seen
By the Star-gaze, unclouded.
They glow in thanks for such
Glorious recognition
Their pearlescent sheen is
A testament to the power
Of a warm and honest gaze.

the legacy of a color
streaked in violet haze,
echoes through shifty hues:
the spread expanse of sky,
never placed in blue.
white, perhaps, or almost red—
flicker and fade,
and never named.

my bowl

pale earth tan

rimmed with sky

was so full

of beauty

that it had

to break


when it burst

against the

stony ground

all the kind

and simple mornings

spent cradled in

my grateful

grateful hands

vaulted forth

into the air

like a firework

of catastrophic

and necessary

beauty


and i know

that i too

must break

every day

to let

the beauty of

my kind mornings

burst against

the stony ground

of the lonely

lonely world

to release

my grateful bliss

to the tan

earth and the

ever rimmed sky

that strong trunk that so supports the sweeping
twine of festive arms that extend and sway and lace
a pattern of perpetual growth and firm embrace
even and especially in its strength, its firm resolve,
it lets down great drapery of sweet lament
to sway in the whispering air of times passed and endured,
of pains harbored and tended and stored deep in the roots
of the ever weeping tree

What then, is a walk?
is it many muscles pulling bone
is it neurons firing without thought
is it intention,
(or is it not)
is it simply a means to destination
is it repetition till a pattern wrought
is it important,
(or is it not)

if a walk is only menial, offering no solace or
warmth or soft flutterings of aliveness,
if a walk is purely liminal, only a meager bridge
between destinations of questionable importance,
if a walk does not hold the destination wrapped
in each step and especially between-step,
then may I never walk again.

Have you ever tried to carry the weight of the dead?
Have you tried to lift the weight of
The mangled heaps of smothered souls that
In life held hopes and careful joys
And in quietus are absent but yet linger still
Living we number billions,
But the dead multiply in our yesterdays
The only remnants of the complex, or simple,
Lives now lost and left
How much of our earth composed of marrow and body  
Now heavier with no soul to uplift and spring forth
Stagnant weight

How many of our ancestors lie in rigid frames
Still, still in the chamber of dark breathless space
That keeps their bones, their decayed flesh
From bringing forth life again
How many trees have sought that nutrient rich cave
But found only metal and hard polished wood
To deny their gentle ask
  
Must it be this heavy?

This heart, the seed—
Firm encased in umber shell,
Life force, vitality concentrated—
My center, my core.
Then this flesh body the stem, the leaves,
The grand expression, the spreading plumes.
My ribs, the roots that plunge the air for life
To stir into the seed heart
And send out to this flesh body the
Good good news of ample breath!

I recognize the hues of growth in my skin—
The viridian, the sap, the ochre with marine,
This is the color of change, and of spreading,
And of seeking light and finding nourishment.
This is the color of flourishing,
And it is traced in careful moments
Woven into my skin
Like wind in the green green trees.

We have been lulled into dis-remembrance.
We stride through the asphalt city,
unrelenting heat radiating from the simmering un-ground
insulated by our rubber soles
(illusion of invincibility)
We were born into the city and we will die in the city,
where the wild comes to us as a postcard
through the TV, the only place birds of paradise still dance.
All we know are the weeds screaming for life
through the penny cracks in our grit and grime,
All we know are the pigeons with eyes burning red
and toes wrapped and amputated from yesterdays scraps,
their earnest croaks urgent “know! know! know!”
Know the wild for what it once was and could still be!

We do not remember this ground before cement pummeled the
roots of the great trees,
We do not remember how the night sky beamed to starlit cheeks,
Nor how the streams used to run clear and
full to their crests of fish,
We do not remember how great planes shook
with the hooves of the great migrations
of the beasts that knew always their destination —
that home was written in their memories!
“know! know! know!”
Tear up the synthetic web and
find within yourself the buried path,
the trail back to the home your deep soul knows.
Let us become wild again and remember our humble role
in this great wide world,
let us come home, from this concrete dream.

She stands—
every few minutes turning abruptly to no object.
Hips pushing forward, shoulders sliding back,
red soled sneakers and plaid flannel slacks
beneath a dramatic black trench coat,
in the grey shadow of a gothic church.

She smokes the grey and blows white,
and scrolls through the neon screen
with her one ungloved hand,
a bun perched stiffly on her scalp, unheeded,
an afterthought, if there was one before.

Her backdrop—the heavy iron fence of a graveyard,
and centuries old glorious stones watch
as she spends her minutes
engrossed
in the luminous green of infinity.

it would feel normal if it was a bus stop,
a grocery line,
a hospital waiting room,
even a lonely bench.

But she stands,
and periodically pivots,
meanders two steps and stands,
and jolts three steps back,
glitching through slow time,
anxious and unresolved—
yet so engrossed.

Finally now she is following the fence out of view, slowly,
and I hope she finds rest.
I feel grateful as the sidewalk carries her now
away from my puzzled gaze

The great stones and I exchange long glances,
and perhaps they are more compassionate than I,
for they seem not phased.

Oh stones, teach me patience, teach me rest.
For you are glorious in endless rest,
and I am still anxious and unresolved.

I trod the liminal
But the walk is never long enough
Between is where time and space collide
I the liminal walker
The world resolute
in stagnant unsympathetic response
But for my walking feet
Resolution flits and flees
And leaves empty spaces
Gaping holes in my narrative
I walk over and through them
the metaphors becoming tangible
I trod the liminal
and run the same word
over around my tongue
liminal
liminal
lim
i
mal
lim     I      nal
where am I in it all?

curl to rest close against him,
bask in the cold light of a haloed moon,
**** the dark for stars twice traced—
breathe in, out, sink in silence
to depths unknown.
Gaze long and deep,
**** now the silhouette for eyes to meet,
Align the breath and wonder soft.
Find self and friend in union more—
Such elastic moments forever keep.

You should paint
(and draw and sketch and sculpt and everything else)
but I think you’ve heard me say that before
and I think I will just trust that you will when you are ready to.
But in the mean time, know that even when you do not paint,
you paint through the people around you.
I would never have made this painting
if it hadn’t been for our friendship.
(and Mary Oliver)
all the ways you influence the people around you,
they matter--
they filter into that person’s life work
and so,
your life is your art:
your poetry, your math,
your conversations, your eye contact,
your laughter, your tears,
your love, your care.
These are the tendrils you send out
and they blossom into art
all around you
in some ways you will recognize
and others you will never know.

“I’m not good at art”
*******

sensation pulls and i respond
in kind in true in trust
i rely on the lyric wind
and weightless i fold and bend
between the leaves and blades
of effervescent blue and yellow and
their child green
i am born with the green in spring
the blue sky and yellow light
it is my nourishment too
and i bud and blossom and bloom
explode in accidental color
stumbling into brilliance
i radiate and receive
this great gift
in kind in true in trust

A grey shroud
A perfect cloud
My spirit leaps and becomes the mist
And I dissipate with the gentle roll of wind

This evenly dispersed cloud fills the memory of rock
Hulled out by great machines in decades past
A haunting memorial to a past life in layers of mineral.
Oh! And now the sun quickens
From some unknown corner of the world--
It excites the fog
With a tone of brilliant urgency.
But I feel the fog resist,
Maintaining its:
“I am here now, only here, and only now”.
The birds pluck and pull at the corners of the shroud
With quick lyric bouts,
But how to awake the sleeping beast of a cloud
When it has rested so calmly,
So transcendently,
Upon the silent waters
Of the quarry.


At last,
All in an instant,
It resigns to the harmony songs of the birds
And the brilliant shine of the sun,
And it rises and quickens over the water --
A gentle exodus.
And as it goes,
I feel it kiss my cheeks
With a fine dusting of mist,
Like a last great exhale.

There are ways to tread the earth that are kind
and gentle.
Find them.

Kind is the path that wanders
in tandem with my spirit
It unfolds through arcs and mounds
as if my slow careful steps
somehow through their quiet voice
invite the trail to dance
a gentle careless waltz
through the meandering sunlight
that sifts through the blushing leaves
and lands in quilted patches
on the breathing ground.

the loving is folded inside the aching.
the rich and deep is the sandy beaches reflecting in a million directions —
the light blinding and the earth burning, it is everything
at once.
the splendor of magnitude contained in a moment,
the moment is bursting at the seams now.
the thread unravels as the sheets unveil the
limitlessness of time - the error of its conception,
the paradox of infinite finitude, of finite infinity—
we are living life in the spaces between certainties.
we find our rhythm to the music of experience
and we fall into ourselves, and find home between our ribs,
nestling into the cavity of being, we trip into each other,
fall in embrace, and rise in ecstasy of laughter.
we are copper rays of light, exuberant !
flitting between the maple leaves
we dance with the tails of grass
we hum in synchrony till the moon reflects our lily cheeks.
and we taste the stars and see the galaxies behind our eyes,
the construct of days fade away and it is only space
between certainties of light and dark
and we inhabit it with a bold stomp and a wild laugh.

I will stretch and bend
and even if I break
I will mend

eyes that dive into mine
you swim in the blue green of my irises
and sink to the dark abyss of my pupil
i think you could drown

a voice that sings in prose
the rhythm and tone sweeps and glides
you speak as if every word is an entire poem
you must like how your voice sounds

a body that moves like the long grass in the wind
effortless saunter you grace the air  
your skin stretches to contain your essence
i wonder where your body will usher you

a mind that i do not yet know
tumbling with philosophies and theories
an artist an architect of emotions
you live in your mind

the loneliness of a pair of eyes
deep and serene as a vast field of wildflowers
nestled between great mountains

they see your beauty and feel your allure
your bight colors make them feel alive
your novelty makes them feel worthy

the lonely people come and pick of your abundance
they take you home and display your essence in a vase
a memory of vitality

until the flowers choke and fade away from their Source
so the lonely people return
day after day they pick a small bouquet

because the field is endless
so it seems
what’s a few flowers to a whole field?

they picked the field to scraps of color barely vibrant
the field has grown thistles and thorns around its edge
with a riddle guarding a single entrance

“What are You that I Am?“
(to know you must
become the field)

a flash of backwards attraction
eloquence of erupted sensation
permanence of pressing agendas
episodes of earthly silence
i could follow my mind
into oblivion

in this moment i write
i do nothing but write

I feel for all their specificity the particular textured depression
of each key beneath my fingers  
I mul over each syllable and idea in my mind
toying with it's taste on my tongue


i let myself sit in silence when no words come


in this moment i write
i do nothing but write

no distractions exist for me here
i stare at the upper corner of the room between words
i reread what i have typed
i stare at the blinking line as it reveals my next thought


and i let myself sit in silence when no words come


the poetry is in the silence sometimes

some kind of hole not felt before
a new absence an unfamiliar gape
a desire for someone
on whom i could shower fondness
like spring rain and
pour passion on
like a summer storm
and float affection on
like a winter snow
someone to mindfully walk through the seasons with
knowing that their current state will pass
but present in their ephemeral beauty
and trusting in their nature to come again

Mmmm connection
warmth flows through sound waves and tunnels in my ears.
the lightweight presence of fondness settles between my ribs
distance for once is relieved that it did not separate but rather brought together

Mmmm perfection
kind sensations of affection my heart hears
a dedicated time spent deliberately
distance for once not resented but honored as a tether

my neighbor stabbed someone last night
a middle school scuffle turned to adult altercation
and two houses down in the middle of my street
my neighbor was stabbed by someone last night
words turned to fists turned to metal
switch and flick and with children looking on
my neighbor stabbed my neighbor last night
attempted manslaughter and 150 thousand bond and
another child enters in the system
because last night was just another night in the neighborhood

Am I one of the people I have hurt?
Maybe I could come back and apologize to myself first
comfort my own mind and soul
before tending to those outside myself
Because if I am one of the people I have hurt
I deserve my own forgiveness

Am I one of the people I have hurt?

how to divorce shame from the body
this arranged marriage
she is tied to weights of secrecy and doubt and fear
how can one love what they have been taught to fear
fear is the crucial ingredient in the recipe of christian ethics

-a generous cup of fear
-a few tablespoons of doubt
-a dash of secrecy
bake in the oven of isolation and
let cool in resentment for 30 minutes
or until the core is stone cold
a toxic concoction of shame
appearing as a lily white wedding cake


they will tell you your body isn't yours
they will tell you not to feel pleasure
they will tell you to renounce your ****** sin


if *** is sin i am the devil and we are all in hell
shame has been an abusive partner
divorce that *******
and learn to trust your body again
let its warmth comfort you
let its pulse sustain you
let its beauty please you
let its wholeness consume you
become enraptured with yourself
so your body can be yours again

and then you can chose who to share it with
because it is yours to share
your body is yours,
it does not belong to shame anymore

my attraction to ideas :
a semblance of magnetism ;
inward force drawn to outward concepts --
my core screams in motion !
to mythic place of eventual knowing ?
every form of expression inadequate
for this churning yearning that expands past my skin \
when a new possible truth blooms red in my mind.

ha
and i have to try hard not to be embarrassed
my my own 'poetry'

i sit perched on the cliffs
a finite edge separating me from a sky scraper dive
to lacy waves that continually unfurl ever gasping
my body perched on impervious stone
i want to melt
to seep down and through the cracks of
this unforgiving earth
i want to dissipate
to be free of this solid form
and sink between the layers of
this mineral collage
i am me and the rock is the mineral
but i want to be the rock and the mineral, me.
I want my skin to release my essence so i can
soar
as the gulls
quiver
as the daring wildflowers
sit ever patiently
as the stone
not in a metaphorical sense, understand.
in the realest way, the most literal translation.
dont mistake my words for poetry.

these streets taste like nostalgia
i haven’t finished chewing
and i already miss their flavor

something in me
   dislodged
        out of place
                mis    placed
crooked
bent or
bro
      ken
something        off
    peculiar   at least       odd and un
                                                         comfortable
unsettling

    unsettled
          all stirred up
                 messy

                     entirely unrefined
if i try to point to the pain
                                              it moves

shifty
    shy
        secluded

the something in me

      dislogedbrokenoutofplaceconfusedmaybebrokenpossiblyatleastbe­nt

a dull kind of bent ache

a breath, a dream before
a leaving of things
familiar and homely

an embarking, a seeking
a finding of things
unfamiliar and foreign