who knew that in about
4 years time,
or maybe
10,000 years lost in
10,000 multi hued tears,
id be on the same trip-
dancing to the same
shimmering inner grove as before-
braiding fresh cut
flowers-
delicate genital-hands, unfolding in prayer
into my subconscious mind
or perhaps into my hair-
saving colored prism fragments
of knowledge or nonsense-
digesting intoxicating
incense smoke into the
deep throated green streaked
laughter chasms
that are my lungs-
spinning vinyl, spun mind
unwinding, undulating
through string music-
contemplating the sunset's sweet
immaculate form, reoccuring
and balancing itself right outside my window-
dressing in shells, bones,
and beads; kaleidoscope fabric dripping from
the ******* like mother Kali in a Fellini
flick-
peeping out at heads slinking down
the ****** pavement streets-
my hairy angelic form grooving
intensely, spastic-
body flung, strung out in
hot patterns of
mirrored arms and legs-
brain brew bubbling; wicked, fantastic-
limbs waving and grabbing at
tangible tasty morsels,
smelling strongly of indigo
and patchouli-
the East smiling on me and
my intrepid journey to the ocean city-
head thrown back in
tranquil madness-
pipe smoke curling like
ancient hound howls from the corners
of my lips-
smiles spread like insanity, a wicked disease
lost in the forgotten finger painted
confounds of creamy
****** milk consciousness-
basking in lamplight
of the golden glistening
                                  Now.

They say all you need
to make a place holy is a
sacrifice and a prayer,
so here we are in the field.

I've brought you grass.
I've brought you sun and earth.
I've laid my very soul here.

I may have stumbled through
the rosary, but I think we have
a chance.

We're in the middle of it.
We're right in the middle of it,
the field, on our backs while
the sun sends our skin tingling.

The dragonflies, the faraway birds,
the little specks of dusty dirt floating
in the light.

I don't know if any of it is real, but
just let me have this. Let me have just
one moment of reverence, of peace.

This is how a soft spot materializes.
This is how we find our way at the
end. I looked over at you and saw
the eyelashes tickling your cheek.

I saw hands smoothing over the grass
and angels pouring across the milk-
blue sky. I said,

I want to be buried here. You said,
Let's be alive first.

*I still call you *darling in my head. It took me a long time to learn that covenants and siren songs aren't much different at all.

Death.
I remember sitting in that room. Feeling as if the walls were going to close in around me.
That space and lapse between the ticking of the hand of the clock..from one second to the other. To the expanding of her lungs..the breaths that grew shorter and the flailing and fight of the body..begging for one more breath..as if in a fist fight with the arms of the clock..to reverse time.
Laying here, with my phone in hand..in the dark at 4:00 a.m., the backlight of the screen blaring in my eyes as I breath between sentences..ponder these memories and the plethora of thoughts and watch the cursor pulse.. as I lay one word in front of the other.
Time..is running out. Passing, even as I space these letters of the alphabet, strategically across this screen.
Love.
Reminiscing on my Mothers life and painful, agonizing passing, springs my mind and heart into action..to Love harder, live fuller and leave some sort of legacy to my children.
The one thing that she lived and taught, through the..sometimes disastrous way that she lived..was unconditional Love. There wasn't a word that passed through my lips that would cause her, to ever not love me. She was real, down to earth, tough as nails and lived through a life of surreal pain that most people couldn't even fathom.
Faith.
Fate has a way of stealing our blueprint for our life and rewriting it.
The immense, seemingly unbearable pains that come with growing and picking yourself up from one obvious failure to the next and the self doubt, confusion and hopelessness it's wrapped in, disguises itself as enough to "throw the towel in" on this life stuff.
Until the fight, stemming from faith in all things soulful arises and ignites your will to keep functioning and you pry yourself off of your pillow and try to remember that you're on borrowed time.
Purpose.
The problem with overthinking everything is that nagging, never ending thought that needs to find the reasoning behind everything..especially when it comes to those gory details and secrets about your life that nobody knows about..(or is that just my life?) Sometimes life just simply ***** and you'll never know why. As long as you can lighten up and laugh about it, you'll keep yourself out of the 51/50 category and keep on truckin', just a little stronger than before. Pull the "good" out of every wretched fragment of your story and use it to broaden your perspective and become more accepting of the people around you.

As I come to the end of this spillage of my soul onto paper, in hopes that I can dwindle down the twisting of my thoughts enough to rest..I hope that I encouraged at least one person to live deeper and love fuller, allowing all things good to stretch beyond your circumstance and be an inspiration to someone struggling.
Lead with Love.

I crave a different state of mind,
Make me more honest, make me connect with people make me more open, smart and kind.

I don't crave the come down,
Make me feel tired, make me sleep but have bad dreams, make me feel distant, make my body ache and head pound.

So when the money comes around like it always does I'm constantly torn between up and down, a battle of is, isn't and was.

My country is in chaos.
Seats of power are exchanged,
Unelected come-down
And steep fog of uncertainty.
The poor are painting their signs,
Others lock their doors.
Tear gas spills in streets
Far from suburbia,
On the shoulder of Europe.

I struggle to sleep.
Not for tragedy
But missed calls
And lack of shelter.
For you and your
Darkened corner,
Bleak winters-
The last time
I saw you in the sun.

Petroleum fills
The lung of the sea.
Swarms gather in luscious greed,
Footfalls over concrete:
The peace sign
White poppies
And paper cranes,
Stubborn **** in the rock,
The busker with fingerless gloves;
The nightclub spilling over
Into violence.

I strain my eyes,
Not in tears
But in chemicals
And lack of vitality.
For you and your
Elusive path through life,
Over-complicated strides.
Simple, temporary medicine

That is the comfort
And not the cure.

The stars blot out,
One by one.
Each neon skylight
Fractures the night
In pink clouds.
Flowers die over the railings
Where they could not
Save his life.

I contain my breath,
Not in calm
But poisoned blood
And lack of air.
I can barely breathe
Without you here.

My country is in chaos.
Earth spins in a slow disease.
Still all I can think of is you-
Whether you are thinking of me.

We are sitting on a rug and lots of pillows watching a movie projected on a white wall
And I can feel the overflow of light hitting our backs so strongly
I look at one of my hairs, the light is striking it and crossing it
I look at my hand and I see it laying over your chest and clinging to it
I see your shirt and how it moves with your breathing
I see you blink your eyes, cross your legs, fix your hair, adjust your position...
I see you wrap your arm around me, pull me closer, bring me to you...
I see you unaware of me being mindful of a movie of my own that you weren't watching:
Our bodies under the soft light of the ever so magical 24 frames per second.



- LynnAA