You don’t need gift wrap
Tape or any fancy bows
It’s sometimes intangible
That’s just how it goes.
You can’t put in under the tree
Or hide it up in the closet
But the person you give it to
Will surely know they got it.

A gift can be hello and love
And sometimes goodbye
It can mean we’ll meet again
It speaks of the reasons why.
A gift is a token of one soul
To another, closing gaps.
A gift is a message of care
And maybe of hope, perhaps.

Some gifts can be lined up
On shelves for all to see
And others are invisible
But taken just as seriously
As a jewel you can hold on to
And feel it there in your hand.
Sometimes it’s a treasure
Only you can understand.

There is a string of things hung with ideas as clothes pins
They take off the ideas and the string can't hold the thing
Memories are strands that if you pull it will never stop unwinding
The common person sees something in the little he won in life
The rest are rather useful than pleasant
Nobody received flowers or fame
If you could see now I'm dying to drown in flames
The love I've been placed through has to be the stuff of myth
It seems to hold back until the graze
The way it holds by taking
The way you hold by cradling
There's so much in me that you already know
I have a bit of wrinkles and the acne scars too
The whole of society sees me as living the dream
But the parts of me that people think are hidden are on the internet
See what the world knows
I should be aware of all the rules I've broken to be here
Then no purposeful ignorance can be said of me
There has to be someone who can point out the crumb on my lower lip
Rather than speak without the relevance of politeness
There's something about the way you hold me
That says you're trying me on
There is no transaction taking place
Treasure is most found on the map of my slow heartbeat
The calm before the storm siphons its way into my blood cells
Making me believe in the little I know as well
You have to be well read to read someone else's biography
You have no language if you only understand yourself
Take a bit off

In the kingdom of Saturday an angel holds nothing,
encompassed by picture frames.

A human trafficker bites a popped Tylenol,
Eviscerates the nightmares that circle his crown.

An optimist puts their hands up,
Envisions a tableau soothed with moisturizer.

A chieftain offers a beer to an orphaned
Child, lush with vermillion blotches.

A physician shrinks down in front of,
A simmered-out wife, head towards the door.

A gypsy considers being alone,
xenophobia resiliently grips her throat.

A mystified boy points to a girl,
Whispers inaudibly “I miss making her laugh.”

A priest begins an unimaginable service,  
“My prayer is simple, my dear one,

Live for tomorrow, not yesterday.
Open your hands.

A wise soul told me,
We do too much for others,
-not enough for us.

nomad
hungry ghost
trembling hands
outstretched
forever seeking
that which does not
sustain

alms
for the golden
empty bowl
offerings laid
on the morning altar
until there is
no barrier

only
giver and receiver
giving and receiving
adjoined
without end
that which circles
becomes eternal

all is but illusion
we remain
unbound
released from suffering
what was fractured
in wholeness
will be found.