The red flower centered
between exotic curled lines
evokes the smell of old Jaipur
the Hawa Mahal ~ Palace of the Winds
where the maharaja’s women once peered
from pink honeycombed windows above streets
overflowing with painted elephants, camels, turbaned men.
A river of color, movement, sound
from red-dust shrouded sunrise
to ember scorch at the horizon line
the desert broken only by the organic rise
of dung and mud-bricked houses sheltered
by one denuded tree, a mirage of shade.

A cobalt hurricane spiral or vine’s end
worn smaller than its origins
its story, the shelf on which it sat
perhaps a fragile immigrant, hand-carried
from the old country by someone’s mother’s mother.
Whole and admired for a century before
its demise, told with regret-laden mouths
mother to daughter, daughter to mother
Oh, I wish we still had that blue bowl
great grandmother dropped
when she heard about Roy
a circle of memory, come to rest
on this distant curve of beach.

The cream and blue striped shard
could be my grandmother’s coffee cup
rimmed brown and lipstick stamped
sip, then drag on the Raleigh cigarette
always attached to electric-tipped fingers.
The cup was most likely broken in the war
that raged until death parted my grandparents
maybe it sailed harmlessly past my grandfather’s shiny
head and hit a rock near the creek, exploding into pieces
a small token of their shattered marriage
a lifetime of regrets carried to the sea
grievance-scrubbed, muted by the journey
this sliver must be handled with care.

The largest fragment found
tangled in the eelgrass at my feet
delivered on a tide of need
at the ebb of an unexpected storm
a perfect cross, soft edges raised
on a rough slab of terra cotta.
The fragile sun had warmed
the worn shape nesting
in my palm like a missing piece
as my restless fingers traced
down and across, across and down

asking questions, seeking answers.

Another night of overthinking,
unable to sleep with all the sinking
into the darkness fuelled thoughts that cloud my mind -
the mistakes of the past I cannot leave behind.

Another morning of oversleeping - so free,
desperate for the temporary state of nihility,
wanting to remain safe from the world around me,
just call me a reality escapee.

icy breath sends flesh altering shivers
as the glacial winds blow
from the mountains
across quiet and still skin
slapping shoulders and hopping in place
the silent fight against the elements
more coats
extra sweaters
grandmothers knitted mittens
hot water bottle
and electrified blankets
all working in tandem
to break the chill
and fill me once again
with the joy that only the August sun
can bring –
fondly remembering sweat and sticking to leather
ice tea and barbeque
warm evenings on the porch swing
instead,
an icicle forms on the tip of my nose
as my exhalation
creates steam
freezing on contact
with the hateful and harsh air
exposed flesh reddens
and chaps –
each movement a fresh hell
aching joints balk at the subzero temps
the slightest stubbing
sending me into tirades of cursing
even rage only heats me up for a moment…
trying to keep moving
while worrying about frost bite
I notice a hole in my pants
and it becomes the focus of my life
each bit of motion
allowing more shards of glass to pierce my skin
wishing only for warm cocoa
and the crackling of a hard wood fire…
looking out at the tundra
the realization comes clear
while it is only a couple hundred yards to the house
I am sure to die
and be found in the spring thaw
rather than ever make it through
this wintery hell –

slipping unnoticed
past the giant door
opening and closing like clockwork
travelling en masse
away from the center
void of life giving oxygen
making the dangerous trip
though miles of tunnels
only to try and pick up another load
from the lungs
and drop it in the brain and heart –
escaping the chest cavity
the right arm becomes my journey
what looks to be just a couple feet
up and back
in reality is hundreds of inches
passing scar tissue
and trusting that the varicose
with not make a prisoner…
all of the sudden the crowd slows
from break neck speed to a slow crawl
once again this ******* has brought
foreign bodies into the parade
giving each of us an extra load to carry
one that damages our structure
while slowing our travel –
the needle falls to the floor
as another overdose victim
waits to be found
blood rests in veins
clotted and coagulated
wishing only to make another trip around the horn –

I stood in the cold rain
Feeling consumed by overwhelming hunger
Trying to make sense of all the lies
Wishing there was a way to stop this **** wind
If there were any truths to our shared dreams
And if I would ever be free from these memories.

I thought back to the many nights we spend talking about our dreams
Turns out, many of these were just lies
Like broken mirrors I tried to piece together the memories
Hoping it would satiate my hunger
Instead I felt on my face a blast of cold wind
Followed immediately by ice-laden rain

I wish we could dance again in the spring rain
Spin like children in the warm summer wind
But it will not do, telling myself these lies
Holding onto broken dreams
Like a starving man holding onto hunger
With eating, his only memories

The treetops swayed in the wind
And I thought to myself I must get out of this rain
Break free from this flood of bad memories
Sprinkled with years of lies
I must wake from these terrible dreams
And do something about this hunger

I felt a churning inside myself, like I was suffering from hunger
But this too was just more lies
I was being eaten alive by memories
Giving myself cancer reliving these dreams
Standing alone in the rain
The only thing on my face, the wind

There can be no more smiles, only the rain
At least with rain, there are no lies
just the feeling one has when they give up on dreams
and live only through their memories
dying slowly from an untamed, unnamed hunger
until they too are carried away on the wind

Thats what we call it...
When you get so beat up
You can't walk anymore

But then you do.
you always do.

Except maybe this one time
when You say
I reached as High as I could
and I still couldn't reach
the highest Star of my Dreams

the one that really mattered.
Apology...
For trusting people
who didn't give a ****

First, I thought it was my Center
Then I thought it was my City
Then I found it was the Nation
And when all came down to Who's Who
and whats, what
It was the WHOLE  ******* WORLD!!!

Invited into My Prayer Room
the very chambers of my Heart
My innocence.... tied down with a chain
from THE VERY  sorrows of my Being
work that was being Done

The shame of it
my shame,... for being weak in that moment
unknowing Trust, that opened the Door..

You froze for me,.. and I froze for myself

Family, Co-workers, Community..
PrayErs!!... not a one who held the light with me

not down this dark Alley..
Only to the beginning place.
not here.....not this

APOLOGY
Made of the finest Matter,
It is Pure Sunlight
thru the Tears of God
Cave of Death Renewal

Eye of Horus
Announcement of another way of Being
True Love form those Who Care for Me
Love..

So I think I will Announce.

Only God Gets To make that Decision
Only God

Miracles are not just for the Rich
Not just for the Strong,
Not just for the Powerful, Or the Best....
Miracles are for Everyone

And God know's I've shown that I am everyone...
rejector, protector, ******* salesman, Vanity Hero, Loser, even victor
for all my overcoming.. I won, over my Own Giving Up..

More willing to wear the mantle of Humanity than any other
Not even close to Perfect
Fragile...in the Moltenness of the Earth
Cosmic See,
of
Divination