What is beauty,
    if not bereavement
                    of exhalation.

Our symbiosis is just
elongated moments
   of perpetual pain,

and unending noise.

And when were void less,
         there is elegance
where our conclusion is

             peaceful silence.

To aim your place
and chase with haste
Whilst many face
the angst and grace

Informed techniques befit your crest
Smash through with force
Opposing guests
Controlling breath
Patience met
The journeys long to ascend

Focus on the foes ahead
Destructive forces with intent
Defeat dealt out inside a zone
Hate and venom will be spent
A noble art to call your own

Our lives mean more than a nine to five
and just because you’re breathing
doesn’t mean that you’re alive.

The sound of your breath steadies me, it makes me feel alive,
It makes me notice my own breath and the way I feel inside.

Your part in my life reassures my that I am really here,
Without you, who's to say I didn't make it all up from fear.

2/28/2020

I’ve been testing out these new black socks for three days now,

I can’t take them off,

My toes grew numb so I stuck Chinese charcoal heaters to the bottom of ‘em

Wrapped up heavy in the covers on my Japanese futon,

kerosene heater set to the highest degree,

Watching snowflakes pileup on my window seal

As I waver between peaceful meditations and combative mental mediation,

Intermittently manipulating time and commanding this bone to heal,

I breathe in I breathe out

Here and now there is so much space to feel

I can't remember the last time I sat in bed in the daylight

Navigating patience, peace and pain

It's all perspective

An energy lift or an energy drain

But the universe laid me out this time

carving space out of the go-go-go

Burning off the fog, dissolving those mental linear lines

Making it okay to settle into the just so-and-so

I can't remember the last time I sat in bed in the daylight

To just lay here and feel the space of nothing

To let the breath come’n go,

To let the breath make space for something that I don't know

You never knew what was in that safe
it was only opened at midnight
and when it was
the whole house would cry

except for you
you were quiet
steady.

You focused on your breath
just like she taught you,
it didn’t fix things
but it made things survivable.

Another day
another prayer,
don’t let him hear you cry.

I was thinking about your
breath before you brush your teeth,
I love it.
It reminds me of simple, beautiful things,
like, streams flowing gently over
moss-covered rocks, and puppies at
about three weeks old, right before
they open their eyes, the way they
wiggle around with their ears pasted
to their heads, blind to the world.
Soft plump bellies full of
Mother's milk.  But I think most
of all, it reminds me of home,
a home with love and laughter,
and books and plants.
Classical music and sunlight-bending
through half-open windows.
It warms hearts and hands and
hours and days, that slip
away far too soon.
It reminds me of feathers and flight,
and babies--clocks ticking, pages turning,
and life--hard, fast, short, beautiful life.

I want to write POEMS on your SKIN with my LIPS.

LET THE INK HIT THE GROUND.

I Want to write POEMS on your SKIN with my BREATH.

LET THE INK HIT THE GROUND.

I Want to write POEMS on your SKIN with my SKIN.

LET THE INK HIT THE GROUND.

You’re a force of nature. The wind had to stop and catch its breath after seeing you.

The sun has to squint in your presence.

Your voice stops the waves and sings the moon to sleep.

You tell thunder to be quiet and the skies turn blue.

Dancing with lightning and the lightning is you.