Dreams rarely die.
They just get soggy and
someone must throw them
away.

brisk air admits to sun’s gallivanting;
today’s temporal prosecution

Leave.
the safest
most unforgiving
plead

tick tock, bock chop
run goes the days
folded in half by the needs
the needs of the world, the one, the many
question these sorrows
is it a life half made
or far over expected?
oh question these sorrows

these berries sting my lips
we picked and you showed me
how to find the sweetest blues

perhaps you know how i feel
and are just kind
or i hid well
but either way
i ask God if he wants to share
thinking that if he is involved
things will work out in my favor
but that’s not how it works

so i eat the last berry
and remember that
this rock in my gut
isn’t meant to stay

nor were you apparently
but i guess a lesson learned
is that my favor
doesn’t depend on you anyways

branches cusp the foggy air
these trees pave the way
or is it the lack of trees
that determines my fate…
as if there is such a thing

but if there were
it’s not as if the trees
care about my driving habits

and if they don’t care about that
then they mustn’t care where I end up
(since habits shape character, you see)
so I conclude
that fate cannot be

to eat, they say
to drink, they say
to relish one’s labor
is the only source of joy

meaningless is the rest,
so the teacher says

from experience i would agree
but where does this leave me?

to eat is to die, i say
flesh is a burden
to drink is foolish, i say
rigidity is a comfort
work is futile for mortals

meaningless is still the rest
so where does my frantic soul find its joy?

i guess this is my peroration;
i will die in stubbornness
or learn to quite my says

to know i am the least bit special
is actually the greatest news i’ve heard
in nearly 8,000 days

let me be
self to self
why so determined?
not to be

not to this
to that or other
but only one way

that way is dumb
but promising
no

let me be
i just want to be

quite numb
like the hmm of a mute TV

every heart thump is stunted
as if bungee chords hold it down
but that’s just how it is now

life has settled in my skin
according to gravity
like the rotting bottoms of fruit
wisped away by the air
through this skin become mesh

my heart no longer pumps
it spins like the earth
except mine is hollow
a heavy shake and I feel the singe
of where you burned a hole
and I’ve been dripping since

as long as the earth goes
so too will my heart circle
a steady infinite hollowness
waiting for the past to change

maybe like a watermelon
i will sound right to someone
but really what would that serve?
another means nothing, so too does the past

maybe this was my big bang
the beauty of space comes from it’s emptiness
just there
i guess i’m just here
and my spinning weightless heart
serves a purpose just the same

happy thoughts, happy thoughts
all i have is happy thoughts.
happy thoughts of what i’d be if hate and love
and bitter and sweet would swap their place inside to out,
but that’s not how it works, I know.
it takes long to change and longer to grow
into a person who understands the reason to live. not to live,
but to live!
like the end of a 90’s flick, making the most of each day
a lie in itself, but nevertheless
to chase what’s sweet and toss the trash without regret.
the heafty satin baggage claiming to be happy thoughts
but so far from it hurts to laugh
not like joy but like running to death
or be killed otherwise,
to the edge of the earth,
where if we are lucky, we won’t have to do it again.

There was a forest who gave itself to the sea
and now sits, sand sunk toes,
gasping for every bitter ounce
the ocean will give.

Death row of erosion,
propitiation for meeting
-unbeknownst to the water.
At least salt crusted left overs
have a certain painful taste
unexperienced by those
who kept their roots where intended.

I tip toe the line
having spent the savings of my heart
grasping for this delusion

the step off is in sight
yet suddenly,
I’m a child with feet sunk in snow

Is it truly a guise that I’ve sought so hard?
that’s been a knife cutting chunks off my heart?

a dream that’s been so real
pulling my teetered steps
for all these miles

is made of dirt

that stuffs my throat
and dries my lungs
and laughs as I stare

“are you serious?”
to which it chuckles
“you never asked!”

if words shape reality
like the study with the plants
how far can words go
to cause life or death?

blue is such an evasive color,
like when water looks as blue as life,
and the sky is a depthless sheet
but when you cup some water,
or fly in a plane
it's not blue you can hold.

maybe too, God is this way.
sure, in the “he is always there”
“he is everywhere”
but I mean in the full experience
until our senses fail us.

so why do we not grumble about not holding the sky?
and trust that the water in our hands
is the same as from the lake?
I guess because the work of God
feels more threatening.
but maybe like God,
we enjoy the blue of a lake more in stillness,
than trying to take some for ourselves.

clinging to an arm,
dividing me

whether by choice or catalyst,
incoherently

succumbed through wondrous pleasure,
became affixation  

while deliciously asphyxiated,
devotedly asunder

life is hard
when i reach myself
out of the dimension
i’m here to be in