I don’t think I could tell you of ease
But I see you across from this sea in between
Shifting in your seat, nursing a dull ache
I know that feeling all too well
But I don’t want to tell you about it
In case I may come across insensitive
Because I’m trying not to shift this center of gravity
We both share in desperation
And tip us over the edge
We didn’t dare to wonder about
But I never learned to swim
And this sea in between
is filling up my lungs
When did it get so hard to breathe?
I call after you, under my shallow breath
I see you for everything  
Hoping you see me too
But this heavy air we drink
Settles in your shadow and mine
It spells out gracefully
That the spaces between us
Are built out of love
And so, we go on
Paving distances
For these descending clouds

I failed all my poetry
by belching words
that isn't me
I bob and weave and stitch the
seams
adverting mental catastrophe
with one eye flush and one eye
shut
I spew the jargon that lights me up
I post it here I post it there
and hope it sticks and fills
the air

is it not this morning
a breathe of captivating
yet unsettling air,
my dear?

as thoughts convince me,
the unjust impossibility
of knowing how the air
would smell different,

if only i know the scent
you have. quite aching
to realize. but it does
the heart good.

to think about this,
i mean. to think
about you.
i mean.

The sunshine melts in from the dark.
The summer sunflowers start their  morning yellow glow.
From the dark of nights despair and suffering.
The light of questioning wakes up,
I begin to ask why the pain?

Did I, or do I have the capacity to be optimistic of my will? Over matters of the past?

Shame, denial, self- soothing, trying to escape emotional pain through all varieties of addictive responses to life.

Understanding this new target for my heart, mind, and body gives me optimism of the will while
knowing
there will always be suffering.

I ask myself, what is my capacity? As the light rises in the morning I feel more air to breathe in.
Aware of the air inside of me whether in dark or light, carries some vessel of hope
to help ward off the strength of suffering.

I am not the wave. I am the ocean. The womb. Conceptualize
the possibilities in this morning dry landscape,
before abandonment. Conceptualize having what you need. Ease and compassion enters. Possibilities move through with ease and healing is within reach.

The capacity to heal needs warmth like the morning globe of light.

drunkeness echoes
soft air breathed in again
and i want nothing

Box Off
The black box that tells of approaching enemy missiles is turned off
The black box that jams enemy missiles it turned off
The black box that dispenses radar jamming chaff is turned off
The black box that launches infra-red flares is turned off
The black box that gives out false position locations is turned off
The black box that plots enemy defence locations is turned off
The black box that steers a course round enemy radars is turned off
The black box that sees enemy anti-aircraft guns is turned off
The black box that should save our jet and our lives is turned off
We are now dead and our warplane is now destroyed
The black box should’ve been turned on

My boyfriend (Peter) and I went down to New Haven Harbor today.

Let’s face it, we’re surrounded by oceans,
and most of them are downright inhospitable.

I live near the ocean, (pointing) it’s right over there.
I love the ocean, tripping over whenever I’ve time to spare.

The way I’m fawning over it, you’d think I know it well.
But I really only love its edges and undulating swells.

It’s like a book that I’ve judged by its cover,
a beautiful stranger taken as a lover,
or a pie when I’ve only tasted the crust.
I love something, I suppose, I’ve barely even touched.

Peter says that black, inky “outer-space” is a low-viscosity liquid,
another, even vaster ocean that’s more dangerous and rarely visited.

The air that we breathe is an ocean - our own, vast, atmosphere -
in it swim creatures too small to see, but to the naked eye it looks clear.
It flows, eddies and swells - birds swoop in it so you can tell.

Of course, the ocean has issues - it's hardly news - corrosion, erosion, sharks and drowning - and the way the ocean lets the moon and air push it around.

What I love most is its motion, and how it reflects the sun and the moon.
Did I mention that hanging-out by the ocean makes for a pleasant afternoon?

Down,
           Down,
                       Down.
The farther I fall the darker it gets,
Lost,  
         Lost,
                   Lost.
Everywhere around me I feel these threats.

I’m falling faster but I can’t slow down,
All these eyes are looking at me as I look around.
My head is shrinking, and it begins to pound,
An escape is nowhere to be found.

Can someone help me?
Can I even be seen?
Please just somebody, Please just help me get free.

Stuck in a loop, forever feeling alone,
Putting myself out there but I remain unknown.
I just want someone to see my true self,
I’m tired of putting her away on the shelf.

I fall faster into the deep abyss,
The old times I simply reminisce.
As the loop continues, the void grows,
I feel like I’m dead and I’ve begun to decompose.

Falling,    
             Falling,
                          Falling.
Is anyone out there?
Alone,
            Alone,
                       Alone.
Now I’m losing my air.

You know things are dire
When you study the Internet and buy an air fryer
A material abduction
That comes in a large box with no instruction

You search in vain for something to cook
Struggling on YouTube, you make that look
Of someone lost in absolution consumption
No sense of normal behaviour resumption

With social top trump psychology
We debate 'extra crisp' technology
Creating new food mashups from hell
What comes out of the sliding drawer no-one can tell

After dehydrating decent food
You may find you need to do some good
Switch off that new fire
And bin your air fryer