close your eyes

right
now.

space
the **** out.

watch and

wait

for those
****** thoughts
to surface. and when they do,
describe them.

give them crazy long fangs.
give them a mane made of fury.
let them summon that buried hatchet.

let it
do its
worst.

then
watch that ****
dissipate
into the forest
of thinky thoughts.

i am
pebble.

i lay
here
at the foot
of a rockface.

i've one
streak
of misty rose hue
that runs through
my otherwise
speckled gray body,

but which
saturates and
deepens
when the angling sun
glances off it.

i have
known
nothing else

other than

this.

consequence
comes around
to visit me
every once in a while.

but i am
in my
own,

mostly.

once upon
a time
it would
seem
i was
hewn

from my
source,

lithos onyx rainbow
shimmer grin
from ear
to ear.

i am
now,

however,

rent, insulate, here -
but also
over there,
still,
somehow,

remembering
a lost memory
that must have
been once

i think.

butterknife seppuku
is my fav way to go

lottsa little deaths
to spread thin

till the last edit
of these things
swims
upstream

away from me

light magenta vertical;
gaurdian of the margin.

light blue horizontal;
conveyer of the ledger.

the space
between -
white teeth gleam,

refracting
lunarlit scribbles

across one loose leaf,
fell by some god
awful idiot,

all for
you
to space

out
on.

i will be
written
down
yesteday

in elegant
recursive
flicks
of the

wrist -

a has-been
fate.

so, i am not supposed to be here.
not anymore, anyway.

i know that.
i am three-hole
punch drunker.
awkwarder.

but those potential
whatif's glyph bright
behind closed eyelids,

and
it

makes
me wonder
just a little longer.

indigo
cursor
blink.
blink. blink.

blink.

acro in the park
at the local farmer's market
energy, again

i feel
like
space
given
shape,

a web
crawler
whose spinnerets
spit out
time,

leading toward
something
genuine and
whole and

present.

fear does not define me.
i am energy,
incarnating

now.

things can be silly.
i can allow myself
to feel

joyous

without stressing about
capturing the moment -
enjoying things as they come..

i am density
in hand with
fluidity.

i am
river rock
and rivulet -
i sit, center,
pool,
eddy

and
swim off

downstream.

the space 
risked 
in this 
will to 
continue 

existing 

can be 
whiteknuckle fist ebb,
instead of
(or because of)
comfy square house 
called home
that we all had 

once
known

about.

dear you, 
down your dram of
petals withered -
sit on your bench
and watch the clouds brood -
let your twenties be
a complete blur,

then,

score 
a line
inside
the silence,
and jot
down
mind

on the margins 

of all there is
which cannot 
be said,
only

felt.