what are we
grasping at each others hands
for a small touch
to move the hair on our spines
trembling to stand
to walk away
afraid to die
we are worms
rubbing fingers together
we made fire and what else?
endless boxes to isolate in
aeons of escaping
our simple claws
our feeble knees
our spinal fur
when our hands
touch other hands.
but empty space.
Contemplation from the bunker. R U safe?
The disease was already inside us. It was loneliness.
I am the mountain man.
I am the shifting sands.
I am the laughter through gritted teeth,
I am the squint of concentration,
I am the missing piece and the stone that won't roll.
I am the Zeit Ghost.
I am the Underwerewolf.
I am the Pseudonami.
I am not what you say I am, until I say: "I Am."
I am the Red Sun Samurai.
I am the Locomotive Provocateur.
I am the bones of kings and slaves.
I am the breath of the wind in the trees.
I am the Electrocuted Interlocutor.
I am the whip of the matador.
I am sunken cities in the swamp.
I am Firestarter.
I am the assembly line whereby the machine reproduces.
I am capitulated capitalism.
I am the captain of the sky ship to
I am a natural amphetamine
a synthetic homeopathic
a cure for the sad
curation for the lost
death for the solid and unchanging.
I am the mask of roots.
I am a treehouse full of books.
I am the sword in the daytime.
I am the Day Waker, the Cloud Shaker
the Continent Unmaker, the Deep Laker
the childhood of broken dreams and unbreakable boulders.
Half-slumbering in your living room.
One eye on your joy, the other searching
for answers to the unanswerable question of:
where did it go?
Fully alive, pacing the gravestones
kisses to flowers in the new moon
and a pocketful of reality checks.
Helping you let go of everything
Holding you back.
Hoping you'll hold onto me.
Awoke to the sound of gunfire
Chewed teeth pacifying the burning rage against the disease
Mother's Milk a distant dream
And the sweet salt of your super nature
Caressing the cavities in my head
Swallowing the holes in my soul
as metal shards make more young soldiers whole
completing an illusion of control.
How long can you hold onto a necessary reverie?
As long as you need assuming you both agreed to dream tonight,
To face to face the side by side
To never ever lie
To reprobate the profligate
And accept the overwhelm
All allowing of the atmosphere
Loving every moment hard and soft
And every crevasse in the journey between.
Revive the sight of yourself within the mind of one who reveres
the eyes with which they have been blessed to look upon
a ****** deity,
and to worship fading gold and cracked plaster,
knowing it was born to age and die.
There once was a time
Gone by, gone by,
Picking blackberries till the vine was plucked dry.
Pricked finger and the blood of kings
washed the riverbed clean again
paving path for new bled love.
Story of my life: Hot Hand-Grenade.
Tripwire tickled by trespassing travelers
Red wire arteries
clipped and clipped and clipped
and simple minded times when birds sang songs to other birds
and chirped lyrical lines in the dusk.
More wonder. More trust. Less wanderlust.
Dust in the air. Still in the sunlight.
Broke. Fall. Cut. All roads lead to home.
Wood, River, Stone. A guide, a path, alone.
We all walk on our own
Striving for independence
Now is a time of faded glory, daffodils in freshly-mowed fields.
I still catch myself wishing I had the words to share
The bigness of what's out there.
I still hear myself singing your song of longing.
Still find myself longing for days of childish peace and ignorance
when we could pick blackberries from the bush without bombs falling in our basket.
Still a long way to go to hear the sound of surrender and the silent unfurling of egos into how alone we feel.
Still my heart, that lost love long ago, and surrendered a savior forever.
Hart, of dreams, slip into the stream.
Interstitch the seams.
Been a while.
Are in order.
Out of order.
Where I can't flush my heart.
Throne of broken dreams.
I hear your
On the wind.
On the backs of my eyes.
The underside of my mind...
begins to float
I saw you today.
Inside my two rooms.
Projection slides on the dark white
You're bigger now. A lot bigger than last
King of the jungle wild and free.
big for this book,
fast for me
If I could
find the words,
I'd bring 'em right back and paste em right here for
Every time I
close my eyes.
You're faster now. Stronger now than you ever were.
And if I could I'd go to see you there.
But this is still my world.
And I can't leave a good thing gone bad until I've tried every way there is to heal
In my veins
can't tear me from this throne.
From your great forest seat
and I will carry on.
And I'll sit And I'll ****
On this seat On this throne.
And I'll sing And I'll pray
This is broken Find your way.
And I'll breathe And I'll be
In your eyes In your arms.
And I'll live And I'll die
Just for you Just for me.
I give up You forgive
All my love All your life.
And we run And we dive
To the night To our dream.
Good to see you.
Happy to know...
Our work continues
no matter plane we land on.
no matter we land on our feet.
Today I closed my eyes and saw a tiger staring back at me.
Nose to nose.
And I've never felt more
Safe, right, or familiar,
The grief is lifted.
He stood on the corner and cried.
Not for his mother.
Not for his brother.
Not for his lover.
He cried for the old world.
A Memory never coming back.
Cried and Cried.
What a *****.
My first love.
Was a *****.
He stood at the corner and cried.
Cried and Cried.
Until he died.
A little death.
Painting his pate with lovers and lakes,
He trembled and raked his mind for a day,
He jumped up and down but could not shake
The way he felt about his own best friend.
The further he was the tighter the tension
It didn't make sense, how could a stupid boy choke him up.
Invisible chains tied to invisible cuffs on his wrists,
but he knew he was free. He didn't want to break, see
He chose the chain to remind his brain, that he could make me
I was his best friend.
Still am until the end.
Whatever that means.
he sees outside of time.
He knows how he will die.
Collapsing with a sigh,
He sees me by his side,
Attached with arm and knife,
He finally rests his eyes,
on co dependent life.
A gift from the King.
She is grass cut fresh on the hill.
She is the chaos that's holding me still.
She is birds in a nest in a tree.
She is the formlessness I cannot see.
She is here.
She is now.
She is bread in an oven.
She is a river of blood.
She is the vein in Atlas' forearm.
She is juggling chainsaws and daffodils.
She is the deer in the forest grown from the ashes of the last forest.
She is everything and nothing and something and some more or less.
She is the Goddess who birthed all your gods.
She is the oldest and oddest of all.
She is answer E) All of the above.
She is fierce, violent, conflagrate love.
She is the hole punch around the binder ring.
She is the throat through which we sing.
She is swimming through my eyes.
She is running through my mind all night.
She is whispering herself in my ear.
She is the ashes, the forest, the deer.
She will repeat it, if you did not hear.
She is She is Again and Again.
A good one.
I will read I will read Again and Again.