Pile them up
stack stone on stone
hold each one
bone on bone
feel the rocks
between your fingers
rough and smooth
the feeling lingers
weigh each pebble
in your hand
lift it from the shifting sand
let it fall from where it came
to a rock it's all the same
one tiny part of an endless game!

Feast or famine.
The dry summer or monsoon season.

It’s not as though he had
murdered me.

That would be easier to
prove. There would be

no hiding
the blood of it.

And how I did bleed—
years later,

red all over it.
Improper.

Fuel for the fire.
Combustible.

But nothing trembles
as I weigh the being

of my existence against
what stoppage.

Order or chaos.
Black or white.

What has been spoilt
rotten can never be

golden. These are
the questions I ask myself:

Am I loved? Do I
love? Can I love?

While there is the story
he tells himself, reassuringly:

It was just ***.
It was just ***.

The world keeps turning

its wheel of time before me –


It makes me dizzy.

Cobblestone streets,
a lunar lighthouse,
and a night on North Beach.
Alcohol and arcades,
oak trees and foggy days.
So many ways
I'm finding beauty more and more
as it contrasts the violence
of the world
and the war
waged inside.

Thread counted in linen robes,
his thatch of hair an areole.
Armored tight against the world,
with metered calm and stoicism.
Freckles, scars, lashed eyelids.
Both hard and soft,
all that he is.

A constant battle rages.
Hot and cold circle each other in an elegant dance.
Decay feeds the blooming field above.
The sun and moon compete for our attention.

Inside, a wrathful hurricane thrashes against my skull.
Inside, the elements clash against my ribs.
Inside, the gravity of death and the lift of life rip my heart in half.
Inside, I don't know what to choose.

Heaven and Hell continue their war inside of me
     and all around me.
They whisper to me the wrongs and rights of the world
     but they tell me lies.
I close my eyes tight and clamp my hands over my ears
     but they still find me.

I do not feel serenity in the natural balance of life.

I feel confused
          I feel blurred
                    I feel chaotic

With the pressure to choose.

                                           I cannot choose.
                                   What if I choose wrong?
               How do I choose who gets to hurt
                                                            and who gets joy?
But I do it all the time.

I choose to hurt.
So they can feel joy.
But I don't want it anymore.
What will happen to the scale if I decide to jump

     into the river
          so far below,
     into the clouds
          so welcoming,
     into the fire
          so destructive
     into the ground
          so cold underneath.

How will I find balance within me
     if I cannot find peace in the balance around me?