where he closes a door he opens a window
or so i am told
for every door closes, slams shut behind me
and turns into a wall

every wall solid, brick, concrete
impenetrable and grey
no cracks, nowhere to slip through and escape
i run my hands along the walls, feeling for a flaw
i find nothing but scraped palms

i hear voices on the other side
i hear people talking, praying

every voice muffled, muted, hushed
indistinguishable and grey
no words, nothing to slip through and help me understand
i scream and scratch against the walls hoping to be heard
i find nothing but raw psalms

i feel around for anything
a hammer, a chisel, a light switch
something to save me

but all i find are things i've thrown
plates, pillows, a shattered phone

the walls are closing in around me
they think i don't know that they're moving in each night
but i taste the closeness of the air each morning
and i know i don't have much time left

i don't have much time left

sometimes
i feel poetry in my chest that i can't express
purposeless unconfessed a mess that i try
to gather in my hands but
like sand it
slips from my grip, a
confused clutter of carelessly uttered words of
affection
there's no direction to this
senseless stumble of a poem no way for me to
spill my ink in a pattern that will show you
what i think and hope that you already know, you
are the world and i
am a fool for trying to fit your everythingness on a notebook page

I'm swimming in a stream of consciousness
rare is the occasion I get to rest
I'm swimming
sometimes drowning
inside my head
I need rescue
help me please I beg

I was running wild with the wind once
against the current I flew
through the glass window I came suddenly
and fell into this room

I'm a fish not that big
not a whale or a shark
more like a salmon in the dark
at the bottom of the ocean
where I'm not supposed to be

I'm out of breath.

I'm a fish in your aquarium
the one you never get tired of looking at
you watch me do the same thing all day
how I get bored and lonely inside my rock
you watch me grow until I stop
I can't learn anything new
so I hide and play by myself

Once you dropped me on the floor
desperately grabbed me and took me home
I slept like it was my last day on earth
'cause you never know what's going on in the universe's mind
I thought I should've died before
but when you're being killed the instinct is to fight

I wouldn't mind stop breathing though
I wouldn't mind not having feelings

Fishes have feelings too
I'm afraid of the dark too

Here in your aquarium I get to see the most wonderful things!
how your cat almost swallows me
how your fingers get nervous when you're excited
and I can see everything
'cause no one sees me

Maybe you should take my eyes
'cause I can see through yours.

standing before the beat wooden table, artificial, I'm staring at a painting of white water, cool trees in late autumn, and a wide dim blue sky, clouds manifested as broad dashes of faded white blending somewhat with the blue behind it, so that the detail of the trees and the long staring streaks of cloud seem to express the fundamental oneness of opposites, the dim light seems to portend a storm hovering on the east winds...a waiting portrait blurred in a long time gale soaked with rain from the rolling Atlantic, all without the streaked panes of glass barring my eyes from the frantic surging.
somewhere sometime a lost sparrow's beating in the spray before sight of land..

tassels like little golden angels dancing in pattern without discernible sustainability some it seems fallen skirts blown back, or else kicking high in un-understandable ecstasy, beyond the grasp of my limited recognition of cognition, of understanding fullest being, expressive nonsense..Acceptance that this is not so, or at least only partially so, one being one mind one heart soul eternal there is only peace. Joy. Love. the depths of despair are only a manifestation of too deep a rut, too deep a meshing in the superficial nature of things, reality. Simple truths seen as incomprehensible because they are seen from eyes flipped upside down, backward set them right with the primal pattern which always is and always will be. See from the heart and the mind will settle in peaceful abandon...
Write to recognize the depths of confusion throw it away when one wishes to see the truth beyond limitation...mind not good not bad one with all a recognition of the truth is by no means necessary, only be, the fullest extent of yourself nothing means anything beyond there is nothing beyond self, which is all things...there is only being. Ever-present within without the dynamic expression change is an illusion fostered in the depths of blind submergence...

I am the dog, collared and chained,
deemed useless and left alone.
I am the nail in the wall left unhammered, jutting to snag at your sleeve.
I am the hole in your line through which all of your energy will be filtered or lost.
I am heavy with meaning and weightless with meaning and grounded in someone else's reality.
I am that reality, while my own remains silent and hidden and threatening.
I am a threat to some, no one to someone, and everything to one.
I am the card in play, always, even
when you leave the table and
I will be there when you get back.
Also, I am the deck and few cards are missing.
I am the mirror in which you might one day see yourself and startle your eyes into misrecognition.
I am the cup that overfloweth,
and the child guilty for wanting.
I am the season which seems like it will never let up.
I am the sun casting rays of golden relief on the faces of many lonely strangers.
I am the forgotten sun, just as well.
I am the ruin of those who came here before me and the stain they left on the white fabric of time.
I am the fabric, loose and changing
in the winds of perpetuity.
I am a glass sphere in the midst of a landscape, puzzling and divine and uncanny alike.
I am a door left unopened.
I am a line with no end and a point with no beginning and I will let it be known that I am here seeking all.

All your false securities
will not protect you in any degree
when the Man descends from the sky to see
if he or she or them or we
will surrender to him finally
and gather all most nobly
beneath the sun, the Eden tree
and bid that man must bend the knee.
Will we cast aside our crowns, our pride
and recognize that what we idolize -
the dollar bill, the satyrized
faked-out phoney false franchise
that man has made as a disguise
to keep distracted the hungry eyes -
will not serve to get us by
but to keep us down and cold and empty?