Ayea, Ayea
I hear the call
The call of my ancestors
They walked the paths
They know the ways
Guides when no one of the flesh appears
Teachers of ways not written
Ways thought long forgotten

Ayea, Ayea
Grandmother Maddie
Whispers in my ear
Centuries gone
I know her face without a picture
I met her in the dreamtime
I met her in the trees
I met her in the rocks
I met her in the streams
I met her in the sky
I met her in myself.

Ayea, Ayea
I see my path
I placed it in front of me
before the womb
The knowledge is there
It's there for the remembering
If I open my senses to experience
If I open my heart to know
If I open my soul to sing
Music, the most ancient tongue

Ayea, Ayea
Breaking from the cocoon
I balance on the shell
Which fostered this birth
trembling and stretching
feeling the power
of my wings
I have nothing to fear
They are a part of me
I cannot fail

Ayea, Ayea
I cry out to the sky
I hear the laughter
of the cloud children
Calling for me to come
Come and play
Tickle the face of the Mother
Spread her moisture
Across the drought-ridden land

Ayea, Ayea
Hiding in my soul womb
I was afraid
Afraid to claim myself
To speak the truth of
Who I Am
What I am
Why I Am
A Shaman
A Healer
A Teacher

Ayea, Ayea
I see the titles
Without labels
This is my song
This is my dance
This is my Me
I was gifted with Sight
I was gifted with Voice
I was gifted with Thought
I am Blessed

Ayea, Ayea
I am all Women
I am your Lover
I am your Friend
I am your Mother
I am your Daughter
I am your Sister
I am You
I am Me
I am Her

Ayea, Ayea
I hear the Call
the Call of the Wild
No matter the walls around me
I am One with Nature
I am One with the Universe
I am One with Chaos
I am One with Order
I Am One
I Am

Ayea, Ayea, Ayea

I must let go of my expectations
whenever you put forward an idea
the idea of how happiness and bitterness
should work
you put forth expectations
on how the world works
it will surprise you every time
show the flip of the coin
if we do not live moment by moment
allowing each to have it's own
Importance
we label ourselves with
the falacy of past and future
we remember the past as only we can
Individually
we know the future by estimations
of consequence
in regard to present decisions
each day we are born anew
each day is a lifetime
a chance to Be change
to experience life according
to the gleam in our eye
label me by my past
and you label my ghost
my ghost doesn't care - it's only an imagined
imprint in the Now.

2. Happiness does not depend on
the opinions of others
there will always be those
for whom my joy
will cause the ugly head
of Cerebus to raise
and try to bite
their hair they pull
their teeth they gnash
in frustration of seeing
someone else
achieve that highest goal
of contentment within the self
it is human nature
within the viewfinder of history
to enjoy the suffering of others
even when we decry to the contrary
I must stand alone -
if I cannot be happy
in my quietest places
then that golden nugget
of bliss has not been truly found
the fire I light is for my
Own Illumination
I have no control
over the reactions of others
they may share in my epiphanies
or war against me - I never know which
but, I will always stand
within my own subjective reality
and know
My Own Truth.

caught with feet in two worlds
there is no such thing as doubt
on what death is all about
when the living and the dead
the gods and the rest
all share the same phoneline
and suddenly you find,
the red phone is for them to speak to you
all you get are words
crystal clear or enigma of the sphinx
it's all the same
something to use
to get the message out
so others may hear it
so others may see it
Whoever said being an empath is the good life
Wasn't one

Grinding my teeth
I pace and wear down the rug
How could they?
Why would they?
How dare they!
Seething
it's not true anger yet
just this budding of discontent
not wanting to get into it
not wanting to feed
this monster standing before me
even in this habitual
movement
trying to relieve the steam
I call out the loops in my head
pull them into straight lines
shake them until they shape up
and become coherent sentences
I know this game
they like to swim in my
cerebral goo
doing laps and patterns
emotions in fancy suits
doing choreographed dances
across my synapses
I have allowed this seed to be planted
I have fed it to this level of bloom
holding it in my hands
I see it begins with decay
not the other way around
I drop it and watch it disappear
in a **** of dust
reaching into my chest
I rip out the roots
******, pulsing
reaching to take a hold
once again
and start a second bloom
i fling it away in disgust
there is nothing glorious in that thing.
In order to get rid of the flower of rage
you must first
rid yourself of
the root of frustration.

Grounded
root thrumming
spiral down Kundalini into rich darkness
the end is here
as is the beginning
I find I am Free
At Last
having grasped at the edge of reality
and lost my fingerhold before
I know what it is
to fall into madness
Here
here in this soul music
I find I am hovering instead
my breathing steady and cool
my muscles warm and limber
the fatigue passes
I float
I am pulled and ******
allowing each note and beat
to guide my body
my mind is elsewhere
I am entranced
-
I detach
from time and space
my breath and touch show cold
yet I am on Fire
I see all the nonsense in front of me
and cut the ties
suspended within the music
I leave the edge of reality
my embedded fingerprints visible now
and continue to dance
I see all the ******* around me
and cut the ties
this is Not madness, it is true sanity
it is my arrival to Home
and I continue to Dance.
I see the confusion, pain and hurt within me
and cut the ties
insanity leads into pitch black nothingness
This leads me into infinite light
still, I dance.
-
pushing through the darkness
leaving the illusion of this world behind
I have come to the other side
there is no edge to fall from
there are no bindings of obligation
the chains have always been self-imposed
easily escapable
why did I not shed these long ago?
I am taken through lifetimes and back
I am ******
I am *****
I am Moon
I am Earth
I am the First Woman
and the Last
I Am One.
This all within my full mind, sober, unaltered
the answers are right in front of me
all I have to do is open my soul and see
for this I do my Cosmic Dance.

Lost in a sea of square boxes
these angles do not agree with nature
they do not match up to my mind's eye.
Tingles of energy wash over me
without ceasing,
drowning in energy and matter particles.
I hear what you say before you open your mouth.
I feel the walls of the masses,
crushing in their obstinacy
their willingness to not see the similarity
between the idea of reality and illusion.
For they are ideas only,
labeled and set on shelves
in neat little rows
by the scientists and philosophers of our day.
Their mantra is
"It is only our own reality,
through our individual perceptions,
which counts. React accordingly."
Do they not see that interaction is vital for a reason?
You must bounce against others in order to fully participate,
the intent is nothing if you keep it silent.
Wrapped up in false hopes and fears,
assumptions made out of gray matter fairytales
which are so ingrained,
it might as well be a genetic code.
In order to have the change we ache for,
there must be revolution.
Evolution.
I am more lost now,
with universal answers dripping from my tongue,
stardust honey
which feeds the soul
and yet leaves it aching for more.
We all want to run away from the pain,
not realizing until it's too late that in flight
we cause more suffering than we prevent.
I am older than the hills
I am a newborn babe in this universe.
I love,
I hurt,
I become enraptured
I lose my way.
in all of this I learn, change, transform, adapt.
My marriage bed is shared with Death.
Death of ways no longer needed,
to paradigms grown rusty and stale.
To lies told in good intention and the need to protect.
I have walls no more of my own volition,
nerves raw and jangled.
Brutal truths scrape my throat
grating the ears of loved ones.
How does one say
I see straight through you
?
How do you explain the x-ray vision
past all the masks
to the cowering centers of those around you?
When all you want is to scream and cry in frustration
the answers in front of their faces.
I no longer belong in this place,
chaos calls to me in balance with natural order.
I want circles and spirals
not 90 degree angles.
I want Truth
not brainwashing to lull the masses.
Slipping into madness
this reality is unreal
surreal
it no longer makes sense.
Now a round peg
with a square hole rushing to meet me.
Do I run?
Do I embrace?
I have found that I am truly alone,
trying to make my reality.
My roots are gone,
my emotions a whirlwind
I am the Universe
just waiting to see what happens next.

When you return to the world from this place,
I found, nothing makes sense.
I looked around and saw boxes
look outside your window and tell me which meets your eye more
- 90 degree angles or  360 circles?
It overwhelmed me with frustration and sadness
this seeming preference for an unnatural shape.
I remember,
I felt like I would prefer death than have to be
a part of this reality
one
second
longer.

My friend,
she was waiting for me, she knew, she understood
egg salad for me,
I drank entire jar of pickle juice.
Slowly I picked myself up
dusted myself off and got involved with life again.

Starting to fully transform into the woman I am now
and the woman I am still becoming.
Figure things out as it is time for you to.
You fall down, you get back up and try again,
realize no one knows you as well as you do and be glad of that.
For we make discoveries every day,
every day we change
and become a newer person.
You cannot change according to what others think or want,
this is your life.
No one way is right, no one way is wrong -
it's how it works for you and you alone.
Just try not to hurt anyone.

I cannot take personally every perception introduced into my world,
what is arrogance to some,
is hope and hard work to others,
what is instability to one,
is flowing and letting change happen as it will to another.
There are so many counterbalances in life,
why stick to one dogma?
refuse to stick with a permanent label and call it done.
That label may not fit in a few years -
hell, it may not fit tomorrow,
why worry about who you're going to be tomorrow?

I want to be be who I am right now.
I have not met the person I will be yet,
you have not met the person you will be yet,
so we cannot tell each other the full truth
about who we are on a constant basis.
How can we when we truly don't know ourselves?
as we change to become a more open, calm and understanding people
you learn more about who you are and who you are becoming
moment by moment.

To be held as "I am this way or that"
is not a box I am comfortable with.
Try to put a box on me
and you'll find that it is empty -
for I'll have moved past it quite quickly.
Do not feel unstable or crazy,
feel you are exactly who you need to be for right now.
No more, no less.
Be many things
and in understanding that the universe holds many paradoxes
within it
we become more comfortable with the much smaller paradoxes
within ourselves.
I seek balance in all things.
The only thing I want to be extreme about
- is being me.

I am surrounded.
Surrounded by beautiful artists,
artists from every way to birth creativity.
for we give birth to memories
help them ease into their next incarnation
we bring the memory of music and words
images I'm sure my cave dwelling grandmother
dreamt of one night after a heavy meal.
we are each
in league with Da Vinci, Socrates, Shakespeare
We dream their dreams
We see their visions
We see our own simultaneously
We walk up to them in the dreamtime
shake hands
and sit for a cup of joe.
For me the title of
Bard is not easily given
it is a very sacred role in this world
It is the voice of the Otherworld in ours
It is the touch of the Muse
Yet, I am in the midst of so many Bards.
How do I find myself in this beautiful life?
I feel the excitement building
I feel the Muses converging
they have been working overtime recently
The amount of energy created in the birthing of a creation
stirs the energy around it, creating more
these are the ripples in the cosmic pond.
Who ever threw the pebble in the midst of my family
Thank you
Our homes will be messy
Our eyes red
Our clothes disheveled
But the things we will create!
The epic stories we will tell!
This locomotive is speeding up
The universe is slowly cutting away all those things
which get in the way
Sometimes it's a loved one
sometimes it's a trinket
sometimes it's your whole way of life
whatever it is
I see the obstacles around each of you
falling away
I see your lights shining brighter and brighter
Are you ready?
We are sitting in the midst of a renaissance
we are the renaissance
and I for one am relieved to be
Right Here,
Right Now.

Look in the keyhole
see into infinity
climb through
back where I started
turn around
look in the keyhole
see into infinity
climb through
back where I started
turn around
realize the door is standing in the middle of infinity
I put it there on some drunken night
thinking I was clever in my devising
never realizing I would trick myself with it too
kick the door down
and turn it into a flying carpet
a person can travel forever here
I see others at their own doors
seems my little game wasn't original after all
that's ok
I see others on their carpets
and wave hello
I see rockets and planes and balloons
There is a buddha hovering over a planet there
at peace, in zenful meditation
she is beautiful.
what wonders to discover
what glorious souls to meet
we are all family
we all know each others names and faces
before our first meetings and introductions
Saw a friend knock down her door
and fly away with wings, rapture on her face
I wept for joy to see her go
knowing our foreheads will touch again when it is time
and the stories she will tell!
Oh the stories!
All of these tales from divine lips
weaving into the fabric of the infinite
weaving us together as a whole
We Are - I Am
We Are One
Each experience becomes a story
Each life is an epic journey
retold with the tongues of cosmic bards
the words resonate in swirls and patterns
making sacred geometry with the stars
I see, I see, I see
there is so much to take in
and so much to give back
dancing with the bear and the wolf
the eagle and the raven cry out above our heads
reminding me of the regal heritage which death wears on it's crown.
Supping at a feast of the gods, Inanna on one side, Ganesh leaning on my shoulder
they laugh and cry and tell cheesy jokes like the rest of us
when we aren't looking
we are in the infinite, there is no rush
for there is no time - it's all Now

transcending
this cocoon of flesh
all the trappings of walkway icons
gilded
like the ****** Marys of Constantinople
without the divinity of virtue
where is zen
in this jungle
of glass and steel
time in a bottle leaking out
with a faulty seal.
when will the turn of the wheel
bring happiness
instead of the wet blanket
of sorrow
following a path
down by the River of Tears
watching the Lily Maid drift by
wondering
where is my dress and veil
in the cards of the gypsy
will I ever reach
Shangra La

It's the Age of Fashionable Mutilation
buzz of the ink machine
pop of the needle through eager flesh.
Spread of a subculture
like the hippies and punks before them.
Those on the outside
puzzled or envious
ask Why?
How does one answer?
That it is the ageless questing
for that holy grail
for the answer to the meaning of life?
Some may say it is just an addiction
to the rush of endorphins
but just ask a tattoo ******
what his art stands for.
It is a map of his life
of those people, places and ideas
that brought him to who he is today
and who he wants to be tomorrow.
You see, it isn't just
the sting of the needle
or the rattle of the jewelry.
It's a public display saying
Here I am
here's where I've been,
here's who I hope to be.
It's a badge of honor, a memorial,
a hope and a dream.
It's a way to reach the next level
of enlightenment
and when that needle pierces your skin,
leaving a hole or scratches with a trail of ink
it leaves an imprint on your mind
as well as your flesh
of that moment
when you are ready to say to the world
this is me.

tired of it all
drama queens
violent scenes
pinched faces
with upturned noses
fashion show revolutions
denver heat
smoke and ash
tempers flair
lethargy rules
can't think
hazy lazy
it's too hot
this poem *****
gonna put down the pen
drink iced coffee
and smoke

laughter, tears
It's all the same
a washing of the soul
release of the dam
it was under too much pressure
gotta let off a little steam,
no shame in that.
She looked beautiful
tired as she was
and complained the dress was too tight
but it showed off her legs well
and there were leaves on her chest.
Waiting for the taxi
we bickered good-naturedly
and laughed about our old lady ways
in young bodies.
We were late, that's okay
we're the eccentric ones,
they wouldn't expect anything different
from the two young, old ladies
with the same first name.

Tongue-tied
tripping over the words
that spill out between my teeth.
Mind flashes from red to green
sickly, mottled with yellow
tired of waiting.
I want to be able      to    exhale...
come to my senses,
know which way is up,        in the midst of this chaos.
so much to say
and all that comes out is that 4-letter word
so flippantly used.
Can you see the inside of me?
my heart beating 100 times a minute
my entrails knotted, Gordian style.
Are you my Hero.
in this white trash epic
which is my life?
If so,
how many foes must we conquer
to find our way home?

I sit here
on these empty battlements
built brick by bitter brick
to guard around my heart
that most fragile *****.
I overlook the battle of my spirit and will
only to hear your voice
speaking my fears into reality.
As I watch
one foe turns spectral in form,
vanishing in mist.
Leaving me dejected,
frustrated in my deliberations.
Showing me the true nature
of this deceit;
the most horrible kind
that
of the Self.

***** Wonka's ***** is wonky,
I wanted to write it down
But I didn't bring my pren.
He tried to hand me one,
I said, "Not now, we're in the car."
She burst out laughing.

Poking the booth.
Hole. Hole. Hole.
he said, "no, it's not big enough."
And she always likes to be the Devil's
abst, abti, avsti, avocate.
The conversation tries to continue on
while I cry,
"Stop! I have to write this down!
Hand me the pren."
He asks if I'm going to include:
"Front hole so happy, back hole sing song."
I don't know, maybe,
and yet I have.

He needs  to see "The Exorcist",
the movie, not the person.
I offered to exorcise him, if he needed it -
"Baby."
but he hasn't eaten any split pea soup recently
so I don't see the need.

The smoke crowds around him,
the one who doesn't practice the cancer stick mojo,
and she says,
"Just say - I hate rabbits."
"What?"
"I hate rabbits, it makes the smoke go away."
"I hate rabbits."
The second hand cloud disappears.
"See?"
"You're not normal."
She laughs and replies that it's
the normals you have to watch out for.

She and I decided to write a letter to
Destiny,
relaying that
no matter how hard we try to convince him,
he does not believe in her existence.
However,
Nobody expects the
Spanish Inquisition.

A feeling of awe
when standing in midsts ancient
the whispers are true.

Limits do not exist
They are creations of the mind
Time and Space do not exist
They are creations of the Mind
Fear on the ladder up the genome
Its every 2nd rung
And we can't seem to get rid of it.
Fear is the father of all destruction
Fear breeds ranks
Of Anger
Distrust
Paranoia
Violence
When faced with a radical new view
Fear does his dance
Hoping we will turn away
Or smash until comprehension is
No longer available.
Please check your number and dial again.
You have now entered
The
Void.
That place of Zen No-Thingness.
Here is the black where all colors
Are in the same space
At the same time.
Where there is no separation
One from another.
All co-exists harmoniously
And we consider the Dark side
To be the place of hell.
White is the absence of all color
Within it nothing exists at all
It is true oblivion.
And we consider the Light side
To be the place of heaven.
And yet
And yet
Fear declares that oblivion is the enemy
We must find any way possible
To become
Immortal.
(Dunt Dunt Duuunnn!)
Have you found Waldo yet?
We live in a paradoxical reality
Dictated by our Most Holy Lord
Fear
And His Most High and Mighty
Likes to keep us hiding in the dark
Longing for the light
While holding us in ignorance to the
True Nature
Of both.
Even when we glimpse it
If Fear gets to us before anything else
We turn our backs on the Truth
And try to destroy all evidence
Of its existence.
Maybe the way out
Is just to twirl
And keep twirling
So that Fear can't ever get into our view
And can't even get a hold on us.
Possibly the Dervishes have something
Going with their rites.
We would see
All
If we set our spirits
To twirling.
Don't worry about where
The music will come from.
The universe is already
Providing it.

To live
Seems to mean
To struggle.
Buddha teaches that when we
Release all of our desires
Our expectations
Our assumptions
Then too shall our suffering pass.
There is a part of me which
Cheers
And yet another which
Rails
In response to this.
It seems on the surface to ask
Us to cease to be human.
But isn't that what the search for enlightenment
Is about?
To become something more than human?
To elevate into a higher No-Thing?
However
In this search we forget that
The quest itself is
A desire
An expectation
An assumption
That there is something to
Work
Towards.
Only when we release
Even this need to be
Something other than what
We are
Does that mysterious
Phenomenon happen.
Or does it?
It seems so easy at times
To let go
Let it all slip from my grasp
And find that place
Which is
No place
And
All places at once.
Something always calls me back
And I find myself
Toiling
Stumbling
Struggling
Suffering
And I have to ask
Why?
What pulls on my silver cord
And grounds me back to this
Fleshly cage
With all of its
Aches and pains
Tortures and torments?
I don't understand
Maybe I'm not supposed to
And this grasping
For knowledge
On the whys
Of human suffering
Is just another thing
I must lay by the wayside
Say
Adieu
And never look back.
If only it were that effortless
Perhaps I am distantly related to
Lot's wife.
Destined to become a pillar of salt
When I cannot turn my back on
That which I love.
Disobeying the Divine
Distrusting that there should be no
Last sight
It seems straightforward
The Divine sees what we mortals do not
But if we are all a part of the Divine
Is it impossible for us to know it all as well?
This appears to be the case for the masses
And for me
As I am not a Bodhisattva
Yet.

Some say I'm too tough
Hard to comprehend
Hard to deal with
Hard to love
Some say I'm too soft
Easy to push over
Easy to manipulate
Easy to love
It is hard to explain
Easy to cave in
Just shut up
And let the others do their thing.
Think what they want
Do what they want
Hold no one accountable
For their actions.
We all mess up
We all have faults
We all have lives
After All.
But if we hold no one
Especially ourselves
Accountable
For our actions
For our reactions
For our inactions
Then how do we live?
Responsibility is a big word
And a bigger deed.
We are in this life
To learn
And teach
Every moment
Every breath
Every heartbeat.
What we get out of it
Is up to us
Alone
Individually
Subjectively.
We can do no more
Good
In this life
In this world
In this universe
Than to be the best
Student
Teacher
Partner
To everyone around us
Including ourselves
That we can be.
We must not judge
That one person's way
Is better than another
Simply that it is
A different point of view
A different way of living
A different style of loving.
The blind can get along
Without the one-eyed man
And if he thinks himself king
Because of his sight
It will only be until
The novelty of him
Has worn off.
For the blind have
Everything mapped out
Each step counted
Every object
Accounted for and memorized.
Those with sight
Move things around
Step outside the lines
Wonder what is beyond.
We can no more
Cause someone to awaken
Than we can restore
Sight to the blind
Hearing to the deaf
Voice to the mute.
Though we can offer them
New ways to explore
Their world.
Tell our tales
Without expecting
Any of it
To be heard
To be understood
To be believed.
For us to try to understand
Within ourselves
That all find out
Exactly what they need to know
When they need to know it
In ways only they can know it.
And sometimes
We are the messenger
Bearing tidings of great joy.
And sometimes
We are the lunatic
Ranting unheard on the corner.
It doesn't matter what you think
You are
Except to yourself
And you can never
Ever
Make someone see you
Any other way
Than the way that
They do.
Words
Actions
Beliefs
Are up for random
Interpretation.
And if you want to be
Unconditionally accepted
For your unique being
Then it's time to ante up
Folks
Because
Turnabout
Is Definitely
Fair Play.

I've got a Muse on my back
It whispers in my ear
Has my hair in its grasp
Directing me
Turning me this way and that
Now a painting
Now the words spill forth
And now
Ladies and Gentlemen
Creatures of all ages
It's time for an event!
Let us wow and amaze you
Show you Portals
Where the Dreamworld spills through!
You won't believe your eyes
And will wonder if the Sandman
Hasn't snuck up on you!
I hope.
At least that's what the Muse
On my back says
Showing me glimpses of what
Is waiting to be done.
It's already there
I've already done it
In the space and time where there is
No space and time
But all happens Now.
So all I have to do is
Do it
And trust that its already
A success
After all, who am I to doubt
The Muse on my back.

I have lost
all pride
all vanity
all reason
all sense of self
All that is left
shown to no one
is this trembling mass
of flesh and bones
Gone is the sweetness
and the light
Peering at the world
as if already beyond the vale
Everything is detached
solace is a myth which
is no longer believed in
But the grave refuses to
claim it's prize
Saying no, not yet
You have not suffered enough
Fingertips ******
digging the fetid soil
trying to escape into not out
and after so much labor
not a dent can be seen
as if the air above it
flays the skin
in resistance to the attempt
I am lost
and only you stand before me
the path I walk is gone
there are no signs
there are no omens
the voice of intuition stilled
you are a fortress
built up around me
swallowing all sound in the
void of silence
Though I scream I hear nothing
Though I pound and claw
no stone moves
How much longer will you hold me
in this prison?
I cut off my hair rather than
deem to let it down.
If I must be trapped soundlessly
here
I will not make it easy for you
to come to me, sneaking in the night
You must tear down the walls
yourself
Destroy what you have created
and nurse the wasted self
back to the beauty you
imagined would be waiting
when you placed me
in your museum.

Oh Balm of Gilead
Where are you?
My tongue is swollen
from misuse
If it bled or decreased
every time it betrayed me
I would no longer possess one
Vows of silence
broken so suddenly
me thinks it has a mind
of it's own
To break promises
carved in stone
and stained with blood
from the sacred living heart
Why can you not hush?
Must you waggle so?
Have you not learned
that you are the cause of so much
pain and misery?
Obviously not
and the lips, the lungs
they are your cohorts
Relishing in the the noise they help
you make
Rejoicing in it, whatever the
consequence of such
idiocy proclaimed
as if the whole universe was
created
to hear your donkey braying
Silence is more valuable,
more poignant
than all the treasures of heaven
If only the Balm would stick.

I have broken the seal
all the jumbled inside my
hand
bottlenecked in my trembling fingers
pours forth suddenly
and my blood ink stains
the pages black
This is the Great Flood
and the Black Death
This is the Renaissance
and the Dark Ages
That cusp of breathtaking proportions
where the long winter
is broken
and the dawn after the
longest night is come
The promise of fresh air
which does not hurt the lungs
Of warmth which pulls the sting
away from the frozen flesh
whispers through the soul
and the wait which
needs must happen
until Spring arrives
is even more agonizing
in it's first promise of arrival
than all the misery
the dark silence
ever
could
afflict.

Dreams hold more truth than
any reality our waking mind
can construct
Pretense holds no sway there
it is stripped bare
and shoved beneath the naked light
The consciousness of daylight
is a lawyer
it bargains holding air in it's
hands
as if that were a poker hand
with all four Aces.
Dreams do not need to
play such petty games
they have all the facts
can show you the minuscule details
our Sol Counselor
would prefer be kept under the rug
Dreams delight in the bizarre
and show us what's
behind the curtain
door #3
and down the rabbit hole
all simultaneously
If you relax into it
take a bite
take a sip
make a deal
all while walking through the poppies
You'll see
Oh, you'll see
You'll definitely, finally, truly see.

My words have been stolen
as I put my heart upon the shelf
quivering in it's sudden new position
cold and vulnerable
outside of it's bone prison
which gave airs of security, protection
what a mistake, that.
The daggers ****** between
proving the weak points of the
flesh to be real
and not phantoms.
After a long talk
we both decided it would
be safer on the altar.
It seems my argument
made sense
since my heart agreed
wholly and without reservation.
In the night we have long
conversations
my heart and I
calling to me from it's new
residence
asking when it can come home again
weary of the cold
and trembling when a stranger
walks too closely by
I reassure - even when they peer
closely at the jumble around you
you remain invisible
my voodoo is that strong
It agrees with a wet, thumping sigh
wistful and nostalgic
for the incessant whispering
of the Siamese twins
named, unoriginally, the Lungs.
It wonders what treasures
the gurgling idiot stomach
is dissolving today without judgment
(unless, of course, the stomach is throwing a tantrum
and decides to toss everything back out.)
I understand
these are the musings of an *****
misplaced
who misses home and forgets
the pain which drove it away.
If only my brain would forget
that old library
huge and dusty as a mausoleum
never throws anything out
just shelves it and adds it's placement
in the card catalogue
(If only it would upgrade - cross-referencing and rediscovery
would be easier.)
However, the librarian holds grudges
when the heart has been
played with too roughly
and keeps the pain files on her desk
constantly rifled through and
shuffled, reshuffled, shuffled again
"One day I'll have enough to write a book"
she mumbles over the complaints
of my heart as it bleats and moans
about it's new home
She doesn't hear it - it's too far away
from the Central Nervous System
for the message to be transmitted
in the proper form.
When she remembers
that ole librarian of my brain
where the heart has gone
she stops to listen
and in anger over it's pathetic pleas
she cries
"We have not learned
So you cannot return
If I did as you request
We would take back up the quest
And we all know...
He -
He -
He... "
She breaks down in literary sobs
reminding the heart of
the nature of it's exile
and why
it's truly
for
the best.