if it were all chrysanthemums
and no sting,
all landscapes
and no crumbling,
all minerals
and no sediment,
all revolution
and no debris.

It would be great
if reality were not reality,
it would be great
if life were not life.
It would be great
if there was an idea machine
that could sift truth
from lie.

To press a button
and get an answer
and never ever
have to wonder.

But for now we bathe
in freckled light.
Zap, spark, corona, thunder
and then the aftermath,
the morning as indistinct
as wet clay.

Tears watered
the beginning
and in the beginning
there were brilliant colors,
and in the beginning
there was all events
prior, and in the beginning
something amassed much
bigger than great.

Do i drag you down,
to the depths of myself
when i tell you
of what i have seen,
what i have felt,
what i have done
and had done to me?

Do i belittle you
to the size of myself,
with the stories of my past,
all that i've done.
all that i've hurt
and all i've avoided
the other lives
I used to lead?

Do i make you
to shake in your bones,
when i speak of my actions
and inactions
my screams and my cries
and most deafeningly,
my silences?

Do you pity me
or do you fear,
my child,
all i have failed to do?

Where did my words go?
You nasty devil,
Did you eat them up?
Steal them away,
When I wasn't looking?
Sneak them into a paperbag
And throw them into a lake?
You left me speechless,
And alone to my thought,
Indescribable and dark.
And where did my movement go?
Venomous demon?
I used to move like the wind
Like the water
And the stars.
In my limbs i held
All i ever wanted to know,
And was yet to learn.
But you've taken it from me;
Immobile and mute.
And where did you put my kindness?
Sneaky serpent?
I was one with the world,
I gave and I received.
We shared and were one.
Now i lay alone in darkness,
Wishing i could change

Moonlight bent down gentle,
Kiss kiss on our foreheads,
As we wandered in the dark.
Trees on either side of us
The sea close enough
to hear its whispering
Of our nighttime escapades.

Grass up to the knees
Knelt before our feet.
A shack made up like a tee-***,
One covered in mismatched old dolls,
A poorly maintained vegetable patch
Then yours,
Temporarily,
An immobile House truck.

The door creaked open
Dust lay thick upon the air
Along with aging excitement
Of all who had ever stayed there
Before you.

It’s not much
You told me
It’s wonderful
I told you.
The body of the truck was shelves and seats,
Filled with the trinkets of foregoers,
Books and drawings,
Fairy lights,
A small bell
You moved through them all
To the front of the truck,
And climbing on a well positioned table
Pulled yourself up
To where you slept,
Above the driver’s caddy,
Below a wide skylight.

We got high
And drew designs
To tattoo on each other
In the morning.
You offered me your beer.
I accepted,
and fell asleep in your arms.