the scorching summer sun
makes the day almost unbearable
even the plants agree
the sun needs to *******

I guess its not the sun's fault
it's just doing its thing
but maybe it could tone it down a bit
since our sunscreen was washed away

it could be worse though;
the summer storms could roll through
flooding the countryside in a muddy wave
and leaving us trapped underwater

the floods didn't use to be common,
but now they happen every year
sometimes i jokingly wonder aloud
who forgot to turn off the hose

so I'll just sit in front of my fan
wishing we had ac
and longing for ice cream
that has already melted

your tears fall free
and mingle with mine
creating a stream of sorrow,
flooding the world around us

i sink beneath the waters
and our tears fill my lungs
all i can breathe is the sadness
brought forth by my own hand

but grief is not forever
and one day these tears will evaporate,
leaving condensation on my window
and eventually become a cool spring rain

A father carries on his shoulders
his 3 year old son,
as the father walks waist deep in
monsoon floodwaters
seeking to escape the floods
and carry his child to safety.

Monsoon floods
happen every year in India
and every year people are in flood-distress.
I wonder
what is the solution to flood-distress?
Better infrastructure like concrete drains
linked to concrete waterways
linked to reservoirs
which save water for the dry season?
I wonder
who will build this infrastructure?
How will this infrastructure be built?
Who will pay for this infrastructure?
The development of poor nations
like India
is a mystery to me.
I wonder
how poor flood-prone villages in India
will develop the needed infrastructure
to prevent monsoon flooding?

starting
poem
after poem

nothing
making sense

throwing words
at the paper
like maybe they’ll stick

there’s a difference
between writers block
and whatever this
funk i’m in is

that is
an outage
this is
a blockage

all the things that
cross my mind in
streams and parades
and winds that whistle

stopped short of
escape by teeth
in my ears that prevent
the thoughts from
getting onto paper
but instead chew
and rethink and
chew and overthink

i know
what i want to say
i just can’t
make myself say it

i want to to scrawl every
lovely and positive thought
on an old brick wall and
then let the ivy grow
up over it and watch it turn
red as fall comes in

to paint flowers
up my arms and pretend
that plants can help the
chemicals in my brain

that drinking water will
wash away the doubts
and that shiny green leaves
are the only shade i need to
protect me from the burning
light of the reality of pain

all the thoughts
that flicker around
will i be happy?
i hope i’ll be happy

but until then
i will sleep

naps aren’t about
being tired
naps are about
peace of mind

stealing an hour
or two from your own life
to close your eyes and
find a quiet space
deep inside your
scattered thoughts

what if i’m
not happy?
what if all the
effort i make
to find happiness
is all in vain?

and what if everything
falls apart and my
own heart slips
out of my ribs and
shatters on an unsanded
barn-board floor?

or what if

(and this is an even
worse concept with
even more possibilities
to consider)

it all works out?

and what if
i end up happy and
content and fall
asleep at night
without worries
plaguing me
and wake up in
the morning and
everything is fine
and i don’t need
to take naps
to find my calm?

and what if
the words
begin to
flow again?

in floods and torrents
so fast my fingers
can’t get them out in
enough time and they
pile up and overflow
like the ponds and streams
this spring when the
rain wouldn’t stop?

what if my
future happens
and it’s all
just fine?

and what if the
plants that keep
me sane can’t grow
without downpours
of passing obstacles that
just feel like drenching rain?

as the rain pelted my face i felt an odd sensation of satisfaction.

the water had cleansed my body like it was the holy water used at morning mass.

the catholics’ silence could be heard as i bathed in God’s tears.

the deafening echo of a wordless cathedral spinning into chaos.

as peace consumes me and
my body is laid to rest

i realize why God had flooded the earth the first time.

Sycophants.
That Great Tree burns all around us.
Can you smell it?
Can you sense the presence?
That Great Old One, that Great Old Tree burns.
Beckons.
It's smoke rises up and crosses the sky 4-fold.
No bombs may stop it.
A fate lined delusion, to which, even the children succumb.

On the ground and among the spit and slander is the shelter of wisdom.

This must be so.
>>>The waves build and grow on one another.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

Skins who claim to see are blind to themselves.
>>>The waves build and grow on those nearby.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

Formless connected masses gather and execute their souls.
>>>The waves flood and spread their swirls.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

On lookers below the pyramid find mercy in their death.
>>>>The waves spare nothing and the wall burns inside.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

The tree smolders and finds union among the people of the AIR.
Few understand these images.
All will come to feel these images.
In beauty none will see it.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR GREAT FLOOD.

The infinite forms of the depths sprout new seeds upon the space where we may walk.
The path before us is along a prime meridian that none can follow.
The eternal eternal from whence we came.
And to which we will go.

This, all will know.