Who couldn't love a cactus?
To whom would the returned invitation to cuddle be addressed?
My points of pain are a fractal regressed.
My existence is clear
although I am muddled.
I dream of mud, huddled.
How can I know that which is not expressed?
Dragged through the desert a stressed wanderer arrives gritted, worn.
I call in a hush.
Spittle on the lips;
they throw themselves on spines, torn.
Water from the body washes over dry cells, lush.
My embrace is for the bold, a test.
Straight from the heart is so fresh.
Unfathomable pockets of love
swallow our hands
Touch searching for the unknowable
Feeling solid presence passed the hidden
deep in darkness
Blood pumping inside a heart
Embers cloaked in ash burn still
Pilgrims of being exhumed
Flames lick the surface of expression
Exposed passions dance openly
Smoke twists as the elements wish
they were one
Hands in my pockets
return me to the physical.
I am me
We are we
Geese scrambling on the roof
Steady purchase on a ceiling peak; perched.
flocks frayed by the Four winds
Honking hellos and goodbyes.
How can humility match this raging fire within?
The furnace is alive
in harmony. Humble, strong.
Bellows balanced in a steady stream.
Useful. Proud in action and function.
My body steams
learning to trust temperament.
I am more than a passenger.
I am the reactor.
Power sputters, spurts, spews.
I am the greatest factor.
The sole protagonist of my chapters.
This scene's star actor.
Purring ad lib in sync with script,
lapping up rapture.
Talk about incontinence; I talk **** the size of all seven continents.
Don’t mistake it for confidence, it’s a conference of incompetence.
See, I like artistic depictions
of realistic positions.
Metaphor heals like an addicted physician.
Reflecting yourself is a mirrored prison,
yet reflections from others can induce frisson.
Missing the point is my mission, so I’m spaced.
Dismiss what you say then expect you to listen.
I undermine what could be mine trying to save face.
Unfortunately I am now featureless
so that just was not the case.
When there’s no understanding, it’s ruthless.
Reality is a blinding place.
Thank god for the change of seasons.
Gives me a reason.
As the skies fade to gray from blue
it gives me an excuse to change too.
I forgot what it feels to be hot.
As leaves drop it reveals the truth.
We hide our trunks by facades of youth.
I find where I am by playing it cool.
Impending Winter says I played a fool.
We each have the tools to act how we want.
Wantonly waste the days of sowing; when time comes reap an empty plot.
Spirit seems dead, under earth growing.
Throw down knowing roots.
Rise with Sol above lowly thought.
When others are withering the persistent maintain presence.
Stop easy excuses; recruit concrete essence.
Each towering tree has thought of rot.
Surrender is sweet, but only the strong see
what Spring brings.
God does not end with what Autumn brought.