It seems to me that your hands cannot find stable ground
they hover over soil,
not hard enough
they brush past rock
not fertile enough
they race past trees that aren’t high enough
but soar over cliff faces too dangerous to remain there for long
and your hands grow weary as they search
for a type of material with which they can make their dreams concrete

they are afraid to rest for too long
lest they forget the soft touch of grass
or the formidable strength of stone
they wish to remember all at once
While in their quest remembering nothing at all
to hold the earth in their fingerprints
to hold the earth and if not--
then nothing at all.

your hands have become weary, dear writer
let them rest
let them feel the mud between their soft nail beds
do not wash them. There is the world there, in your grasp.
You cannot let it go
even when the earth washes from the lines in your skin
it will leap back into your embrace through the air that you breathe
you were created to be its embodiment
so do not wander
you never have.

We outlasted the moon!
In a timeless place we did it!
The pull of the moon and the rise of the sun irrelevant!
A group of warriors who couldn’t be more different, as I see myself
in grey —faded color, colors that will never cease to exist!
A rapper from south Africa, a student fluent in Chinese music, a girl with no bounds from down the road, a cyclist from Manhattan, a quiet devil from Belfast, and two girls who could be twins from Mexico all of us surived!
The famous campus— empty a bond forever, only the flies
dance with me!The pizza crust from what
feels like eternity or last week at this point fresh on the table,
still two hours before the day begins, eyes droopy, faces baggy no idea
where the sun is a blink sleeping, eternity awake the music on and off replacing  conversation occionsally tossing condoms a laugh, talk of favorite memories.
only sif (not sure what that was) hours ago pitch dark, lost with a welcome room
Sleepy travelers some head off needing the destination and rest wanting to jump offand hit the ground running, we made it walking as a bottle cap falls from an open window at three four disappear as the night lights turn off around me.
The ones who left early no less brilliant, I owe them all so much.
I will not begin to describe them because they could all take up a book of memories.
Funny stories then sad ones as it becomes clear to the tellers that one is in the making all it was, ice cream followed by a half hour, thrilled at company to Ashelies ice cream
after farewell song.
Reality chugs along.
A door opens, nobody comes along.
At three in the afternoon dizzy as light starts to claim the clock-tower.
Dizzy sick and unable to think in the afternoon the prophet before hand calls straight-mistake, (the first N4 alcoholic hungover never another drink I swear before drinking )
At ten that night out of the timeless room it’s one hour then fifteen minutes then another then thirty disappear.
Dancing on the table music and stories. Later that night or morning, at our lowest bit of energy. pumping iron. Pulling back together with a friend from the other side of the planet falling back letting go getting sprung up in the famous campus. Dancing on a tread mill shirtless together in the dimly lit gym.
Is there anything more divine?!
Then quite in the timeless room, at 3 in the afternoon sick missing the talk of a life claiming “there is no love without sacafrice", at 6 in the night I’m sleeping  debating heading home on that paved road opting instead for "who knows?!" At six in the morning, out of the timeless room, I’m the only one out, writing this as the drone of the song continues from the windows of fellow warriors, briefly drowned out by a helicopter. The beloved campus dead quite even birds asleep. Before the iron deep in the morning pool and talk of maybe being social accidentally sinking the 8 ball. At twelve in the alleged dead of night a room trashed unknown and the words spread a half mile out and brings the head honchos down to the timeless room, at three saved from sleep by a prior story of farting in sleepers faces woke me just in time in the timeless room. At sometime the door opposite the timeless room opened and a long narrow stroll around leads back to the timeless room, at some time time in the timeless home my presence maybe anxiously sought or ignored. The ecstasy and disbelief to see the sun, running back to the warriors who I just wished well at the sun! The same planets with vibrant colors. I will never forget the warriors but maybe their names.
I swat at a fly that was never on my arm.
I think of the infinities of time I will miss later.
My hearing worn thin with my sight, the birds songs lost their fullness
though in our business it’s very likely for the better
as I look to see the clock tower fully conquered,
I wonder if my parents will assume intoxication,
it is impossible to do this tail justice, though it will likely
end in the same spot: dizzy  complaints of exhaustion
getting sick and bliss before the end.
I have known the warriors  for 3 days, yet I know them better than family.
Outside the timeless room I learn partying means drinking with others
to bad dance music, the kind that kept me awake, as the smoke of
others cigars enter my lungs and the take truly ends in the same spot I trying to survive the eternal earthquakes after a long journey to say good-bye and in the timeless room,
the light stays the same. Some foosball in a timeless place in reality its a language or
a wreck room, in truth the room was always spinning, as my head is now.

on a hot summerday
jumping in an open field
one little blade of grass
with a name on it

why do i see it from this far?

it might not exist
i pull it out of the ground
exterminate
as soon as possible

...

I had this picket fence,
As some men do:
It was white,
And a few feet tall.
It wasn't spectacular
By any means,
But it kept my garden safe -
My garden,
How I miss it so.

I knew my neighbors well,
Some better than others.
I mowed my lawn and watered
The flowers from my garden,
As often as a green thumb would,
And one of those days
I saw a woman
I had never seen before.

She was moving in from California,
Had a house just one  block down.
She asked if she could have
One of my roses,
Which no one had asked before,
So of course I let her in
My picket fence to pick a rose.

We met a few more times
And finally, asked her to come inside.
We had some tea, watched a couple movies
And I enjoyed her company.
And my garden,
I started to forget about it.

One night on our way home,
While she was driving and on the phone
Trying to reply to a text message,
She drove straight into my home
Running over my picket fences.
My garden was dead
And fence that made my home my home
Was gone.

My garden, after so many years,
Was no more, and she had no reason
To visit anymore.
She told me there was another man
That had his own gardener,
That didn't need a green thumb.
She didn't feel the need
To pick flowers anymore.

I'm singing a song from back in the old day
I'm singing the song of today
'Cuz time never changes with nothing unrevealed
No matter what they say, time is grey

I live in a society just as all the other ones
I live in the cultures of today,
Cuz time never changes  with nothing old or new
No matter what they say, time is grey

I'm calling on a God, the one from forever ago
I'm calling on the God of today
'*** God never changes, (while) traditions have their phases
No matter what they say, time is grey

I'm fighting a war that was fought many years before
I'm fighting the war of today
'Cuz war never changes, just a day with different faces
No matter what they say, time is grey

I'm dying a death, no surprise we'll all forget
I'm dying the death of today
'Cuz death never changes, with us stands be still
No matter what they say, time  is grey

I'm singing a song from back in the old day
I'm singing the song of today
'Cuz time never changes with nothing unrevealed
No matter what they say, time is grey

The grass.
Under my feet.
It's tikeling me.
The sun.
In the sky.
I watch it rise.
Leaning back into my chair, I close my eyes.
I relax in this place that I feel so nice.

We've been walking
Underneath these city lights
For far too long.

That we forget
The grass is a mother's breast,
Soft as the night she was married,
They are calling you home.

Home to the tree that you breathe from.
Home to the noose that you swing from.
The North East is so cold,
And it's not just the weather.

It's a place where
Even the clouds are
Robbed of their ability
To soak in the sun.

Where every
"Promise me this"
Is the chain to a boulder,
Where even eagles
Acquire a taste for flesh.

You would think
That in a place with so much fire,
You would feel a beating heart
Inside the pebbles skipping.
Across a sea of people,
On the day that your
Aspiration became dreams.

We are all human,
But not everybody wants to be-

Some of us want wings
Made from candles,
but never really learned how to swim.

-come.
A little closer.

Let the fire in our bellies
Melt our cities into ashes,
We will take them to our mother,
And ask if we can come
Home.