time as a slinky
coils and layers atop another
the climb neverending

it did not begin
it will not end
it will continue its descent
down the haphazard
flight of stairs
it was pushed to
walk itself down

does it tangle,
i wonder?
curled over
so that the lines,
the paths of time,
cross so effortlessly
that whoever must detangle them
may not even bother

leaving time in echoes of itself
intersecting in strange,
residual ways
that we
will never
understand.

maybe i am so used
to keeping an arm’s length
between myself and others
that death settles into the same role
someone i know,
but who keeps a distance
both out of respect for my ways
and for the times i have nearly met it
face-to-face

the lack of existing
the lack of knowledge on the subject
of course is frightening
it is why we are all
a little afraid of the dark, still,
a little afraid of what is around
the next corner

death, however,
i have known since i was a child
it has been there at wakes
at visitations
at final goodbyes once
the bodies have gone cold
and once the parting words
have been spoken

every time it arrives
it keeps a distance
out of respect
for my ways
and for our familiarity

it does not scare me
for my own sake
(i have known it since i was a child)
(i have nearly met it face-to-face)
(i believe it is gentler than we like to think)
(despite the variety of ways it takes us)
but with death
always comes grief
always comes mourning
and that is the harder thing
to meet.

jesus walked into that desert full of doubt
and i’m not really sure if i ever
willed myself to make it out whole
he’s a lucky guy, refusing temptation
i wonder if the thought crossed his mind
when that itch called to scratch
but maybe i can call up that
wilderness, that doubt-filled drought of inclination
and make it all my own

sometimes everything just
pools in the back of your throat
feeling like you could drown in
whatever emotion
****** at your eyes,
threatens to drop into your lungs

cold and tingling under the ear
behind the jaw
in a place not often thought of
in the day-to-day

sometimes
we have no words
for the things that happen
to us
sometimes words
are all we have

often
It’s a messy helping
of both-
words we can’t speak
feelings only conveyed
by screaming from
rooftops

messy
is key, here
this is never a clean process.
(regardless of what we crave and
wish and want)
few mops could properly
soak it all up

a sponge is none the wiser
sitting on the lip of
an overflowing sink

it can only do so much
to soak up what it can before it is
oversaturated
overstimulated
falling in the flow of water
as it tips over that lip-
careening over the edge,
full to the brim,
with nothing left to do
but fall.

i think i’ve grown comfortable
with my own suffering.
        surviving,
                       and only surviving,
for so long-
anything else feels
                                       alien and discordant.
it still makes the future fuzzy,


out of reach.


it overwhelms me.
drowns hope.
scars and blood
bring me back to focus;
but slipping hasn’t happened here.
grounding has come
in mountain peaks,
desert heat,
the mist coming off the sea.
stagnancy will eventually return
and that will leave me in limbo.
i only dream to keep
peace with the sweeping land,
making hope grow anew.
watering the forest in my chest.
keeping the fire of my soul from becoming all-consuming.

if heaven is real, it's an open road
it's a place I've been on far off travels
where the light hits right and the sun is warm, like the love of a friend
it's a moment in time where you remember
that the world is a beautiful place
despite the cruelty, agony, and pain
it's the eye-shine on a deer amidst a
nighttime field, the headlights pass over
it's the vision of a birdshadow crossing overhead, or landing beside you
like an angel checking in
beady eyes bright with intelligence
letting you know heaven is happiness
and nothing more, nothing less

dark skies glitter from the ground below
past the clouds they dance
swirling around those who learned to climb that high,
not born innate to flight,
metal body with many souls
granted council with the stars
while canyon giants sleep below
and the bright moon looks on
a silent supervisor
with sparse electric glow
mirrored as if water
the performance above