when the wind whistles through,
poking, prodding,
doesn't even see
every minor infraction, even after plentiful inspection
in that it has touched me more than anyone,
has known which direction it would blow my hair
in that in no time has it made assumptions
nor presumed
only moved
about with a firm motion.
that just the other day, anger had gotten the best of me,
wishing the wind would stop reminding me of my existence
in that the bitter cold reminded me of every thought
that had been digging at the surface of my skin
and the wind did not know that i had not wanted
to be understood
in that moment.

i desired to be misunderstood,
a presence as unkempt,
as thoughtless, yet tender,
yet warm,
yet violent,
yet soft,
being able to know
the depth of someone's skin—their hair that stands on edge,
each scar and all its painful attachment,
each memory they've kept hidden,
that for some reason stay dancing on top;
and i stayed dancing
as the wind whistled
and
told me of my reasons
and didn't laugh
at a single one.

Help me love you Lord
More deeply than before
Help me trust you
No matter what life has in store
Help me see you
In the way that you see me
Help me Lord, to act
Like I have been set free
Help me separate
What is lie and what is fact
Let my words build up and create
Giving hope to a world that's diseased
Strength to the weak and love to all
Praying always and down on my knees
Help me be silent
So, I will hear the call
Help me Lord to always be brave
In the knowledge you are mighty to save
I want to know you
More personally and intimately
Even if it takes all eternity
I want to meet you here
And search harder, dig deeper
What lies inside the heart of a seeker
Take me into the holy of holies
Pull me closer and take me deeper
Deeper than I've ever been before
I am aware of my faults and failings
Aware of the cracks and imperfections
But I am also aware
Of your mercy and grace
And in the presence of your love
All my fears have been erased
I can say with blessed assurance
I understand the Lord my God
More deeply than before

a quote of Al Pacino

<>
it took/takes a lifetime to get close
to where the answer possibilities
don’t river rush past, and each eddy
seems like that’s the one, the definitive
affirmative,  jump in and all you get
for misjudgment, is a sopping wet
for your troubles

but you keep on jumping from job
to job, roll from role to role, cause
even if the
last one is not a fulsome answer, it
is in possess of the creative release,
the high that satisfies till you need a
new hit, another hint, of tapping into
the vein of creation that enlivens and
declares, I am purposed
for this,
no matter how long it takes,
and the errors of mistooks,
me I’ll keep jotting down
jumbled jimmied words
in new combinations until
I can say well that’s a wrap,

eyelid hints ai a rest but at
the same time
it gives forth a slow wink,
that best poem yet to come
won’t likely arrive until it
comes forth in a last gasp,

a final exhaustion, exhaustive,
and even highly satisfactor
breadth of a last and
everlasting
breath~taking
t a k e n



nml

he talks of the weather
and i secretly hope that he speaks of anything else.

not because i am not interested
in the way the trees will sway
on a certain day,
or the amount of rain that
will come our way.

but because i am much more interested
in who he is.

i want to know why the weather fascinates him,
how the world makes him feel,
i want to know his favourite movie or book
(please let him be a reader)
and the way he takes his coffee in the morning,
and i want to hear about who inspires him the most.

i want to memorise all the smaller
more vulnerable things.
in hopes that one day we will run out of things to talk about,
and then we might turn and say,
“the weather is meant to be nice today.”

Timing, instants are details, sfumata matter
softness sensed
you know

------------------
This treeform knowing, watching life's works
conform to species, fully capable of doing

just as has been done,
selectively by patient hopeful gard'ners
and talented statistic students,

and Bible reading reformed drunks,
who had a deal with the truth, a good one,
told as
truth, being considered comprehendible,
by any mind declared independent enough
to know, truth's held as knacks is held, tight,
-if self evidence is all you got, you gotta define.
right thinkin'
tight enough to feel the weight of the wand,
right, just enough to let the child feel the water,

feel it, there, that shush, little baby,
we didn't know, we didn't know life is so hard,
at the edge of the roads all paved and painted,

while I feel blind in one eye, from onions.

it means the innermost room.
the room where the first point is made that
makes the man, the place of unshared secrets common to us all,
the penetralium.

penetrate my heart, and that is where you find yourself
wondering,
is this for real or fun.

We call William James to witness:
Where there is no difference, no distinction is to be made.

Some thoughts seem insistent, believe me,
others seem confident that your unbelief, changes nothing.

Beg to differ, please.
Is the meaning clear? Penetralium.
Now Emily Bronte and me and John Keats all mean nearly
the same idea, at core, when we employ this once idle word.

Why I wanted to know about horses?

Just precisely that: to know.

To know the species, their characters, their souls.

To know how to respect, accept,
and control.

To know the nuances and knowledge
only experience brings.

When I said I want to know horses,
what I meant were these things.