he was more of a friend than a pet
a modest, ugly thing
with three souls bound by skin & fur

i’ve never known a mouse to be a functional addict
and i’ve known a mouse or two

he monologued with clever prose
about the impermanence of materialism
and with a deep, angry, disappointment
whenever he saw an empty parking lot

and with reverence regarding the flower that grows through asphalt

you could call the thimbles of ******* he travelled with
cute

most times i listened to him in
silence

when the air was right i would speak as he spoke
identically

he was more of a brother now that i think about it
a shy, talkative sibling
who gave his heart away as quickly as he could

i’ve never known a mouse that cared so much for the world
and so little for himself

rays of light strike the wall where a window should be. the hurricane is over, we haven't yet taken down the boards.
the thing about the storm is how exhausting it can be. it can take so much out of you that all you can muster is enough energy to think. hours expended in forceful trance don't quite seem like hours at all.
more like something else entirely.

i rest my head on the back of a ratty couch. there's a coffee table before me that i'd like to prop my feet on if only i had the strength to. i notice Elizabeth cross legged atop it. she's smaller than i remember. not in the way of height or weight, but in a way i can't quite put my finger on. she looks straight through the boards on the window, though i feel her gaze on me.

a few minutes have gone away. following their departure, Elizabeth turns to me and asks,
"do you remember me from somewhere?"

i open my windows in October
when i sleep

i am alone

still candle flame through frosted stone

a warm milky glow
& cool crystalline air

these things weave me together

the blue glow of the television screen
mimicked the moonlight through the car window
where sat, Kate and i, in silence, watching
after a day gone that began with my name and hers

continued on until her slumber
whilst a lunar halo around me kept me walking in the night

the Georgian oak canopy hangs around like aurora borealis
i’ve never noticed it before

zephyr passes over the shimmering abyss
plots formed from images vacated

it’s what i breathe!

things that flash through my mind:
contemplative lips of a forgotten dancer,
bangs brushed aside,
a glance over shoulder…

                      ~

a spider beckoned me,
to show me the mandala he calls home.
he took what looked to be a deep sigh, and said,

inside and out, we all have gifts
to be given, or shown, or flashed through thoughts.

i asked if he could give me a tour.

the raised lakes of Beijing
are fitted with the finest glass walls
parents go there to unload their unwanted children
the squids of the lakes grab hold of the children,
          hug them
                    adopt them
                          teach them to breathe
people walk by, pay no attention
but the glass walls are built tall
            wiped clear
to the point where i can’t help but to notice.
the orange plumed tentacles
grown straight from the children’s backs
          pulsing like a flame
                  like a phoenix
                         like a poppy’s bloom
smeared by the color of the water’s haze
or the tourist’s awe-shot eyes.

Pan whispered something in my ear
a secret mumbling i couldn’t understand

maybe a message of love or hate. couldn’t imagine anything else

sometimes it’s hard for us to talk out loud
things we want to say but keep inside
a desire to share but not offend

mumbling whispers might just be
the best compromise we have

a dissociated sound hums in awkward disharmony
it pleases, presently, not an ear
but nurtures mossy growth across guts of a population
who listen with cult-like enlightenment

when the bass descended with modest fanfare of plucked and buzzing strings
it announced the departure of the invisible figure
that lived where we thought we wanted to be

so long, ruler. it was your time
you had a meaningful life.
now i just want to be alone

a pause, rested against the mill hopper
behind the glass of an eye

these empty mornings
climb through a mindful shell- as passes a gust by bare branch

distant looming giants wade freely tantamount to possibilities
in the house of both existence and not
they flow before us like gods

and why would it?

expecting something from chaos
knelt on knees, as if words formed silently upon wishful lips
will create the world for you tomorrow

lives are spent
on absolutely nothing
all the time

Eve is walking up some stairs,
he imagines falling off,
and then part of himself does.

from then on he can’t tell
whether he’s at
the top or the bottom
or the bottom or the top

“where is my head?” down there
“where is my child?” nowhere
he carried him like she carries him

black hair. blue eyes. tan skin.
different but the same.
Eve turns the corner and takes another step
upwards.

i concentrate my inherent connection to them
into potent strands of silk;
distill memories of them
into pearls

taken from the air
transformed into something
that no longer gives life

books written in symbols
were attempts to mimic the language of the heart

somewhere i jotted within an admission of love

i wonder who knew it first
and how profound it could be when it was there the whole time

~

i find myself at Union Station,
where people pass time sitting silently in pews.

closing doors kick a breeze that weaves between the columns
holding up the heavens
the hair on my arm waves like wheat stalks

i’ve got a hunch i could go just about anywhere from here

the halls here just go on and on.
it’s not the whole world, but it’s the only place i want to be.

sunlight reawakens us
from our open-eyed slumber

things happened last night, i don’t know where to begin
partly because of the outrageous events that occurred
and partly since i can’t keep my thoughts straight

boy, i could go for some pancakes and tea
and a moving monologue of redemption.
actually, no pancakes, just the other stuff.

to be honest, i’m not feeling so well. dizzy, you know?
i mean, the sun is up and shining
but i just can’t shake the feeling that the night’s not over.

the firmament calls forth delicate bubbles from deep beneath the soil
under my feet, pine tree roots
further below, the fountain gone stagnant

glimmering spheres moving through air compliment the evergreen needles
unavoidable bursts of rot, exuded from that which grows beside the fountain
in a swampy green place, mother of the pines

eternal life giver, balancing this forest upon it’s ancient branches
with every step, a wobble
with every misstep, another burst

to which i inhale my worst of days, and live from those days onward

reassuring taps of gentle footsteps upon marble
lightly echo through the clean air and fluorescent lights

a step past one door, warmth encompasses me
comfortable space, people in this town are few and far between

stop a moment, think
before another door. enter

to a ceiling much too low
so much i have to tilt my head to avoid it
there are urinals along the right-side wall
Eve is standing before one, just to look
a shifting glance, attention is brought to me

my angled eyes set at Eve’s level

maybe this way i can see
why the fleeting phantoms stay just long enough for our eyes to meet

there’s a loss of lasting joy
in life
there’s a wall…

you know, you’ve been in my thoughts
when it snows i see you wandering along interstate 88
or alone in your bed, sitting up, legs crossed
eyes closed

living in the past
while waiting for sleep

the search for bliss is over
one way or another
epiphany upon her
that leads her into space or underground

how are you doing? what are you up to these days? it’s nice to see you in this most lonesome place

i find that balance is achieved here in silence
or in the constant sound of the subterranean; a train passing afar
love of distant past or pain

the search for bliss is over!
finally over

My past sits before me in a cushioned armchair
mimicking my crossed legs
a swaying foot

I’m so focused on its story
that the walls surrounding begin flickering swiftly
yellow, grey, violet, grey, yellow

in minute intervals, everything else vanishes
except a voice that travels from there to here

the words ever changing as they go, and finally settling upon the tips of my fingers

then, comes to me, names that nurture the weeds in my veins
from my first love, a bright doe
through the birds, vampires and ghosts
all the way to Pan

to cultivate this breathtaking wildflower is my fantasy
so that its fragrance will entrance me into a state of sleep
and take me to a place where resolution is needless

between me and the cushioned chair
are miniscule grains of actuality blended with accidental lies

I know there’s no literal plant
just as I know that there’s no literal resolution
and that it’s not really my fault

I was always good enough to have it all
therein lies the perfect balance of pain and joy

for I do not have any of those people anymore, this is fact
for that’s just how life works, this is faith

no wonder
it was obvious really,

we’re two mice, waving our tails
ears perched, scampering across the kitchen floor

and then, finally, out the door

talk about a devil
intrusive thoughts
inconsiderate remarks…

it seems as though moving through time
is just as much about opening your world
as it is closing it