Logic tries to guide me
I slip on fallacies
                                                                                   Intuition releases me
                                                                                   I float unsure

this is all I can do to stop the words
the anticipation of something great
      or disappointing
I hope the former

my stomach is a pit
that deepens with each  l  o  o  s  e  breath
diaphragm creates space for love
and pain
unsure of which will last longer

I cannot see your face
but I can picture your desire
it is mirrored in my eyes
clears a home in my mouth
though unspoken

I want to part your lips and slip you a secret
   I want you more than my form can hold
can we melt together

is this too much to ask for the first time
if so              I can stop the words
   (their expression, at least
not their existence)

to save a thread
            or cut it out
     or
           let
                  it
                       dwindle
the     natural      route

On the other side of fear is greatness
on the other side of greatness is ___

the thing about lines is they never end
always polarizing into two sides
that gain assurance in contrast to the other
           who are you without comparison
but this life is geometry
characterized by curves and endings
by spontaneous turns
   that neglect signs
signal right and turn left
when the crash comes
there's a thin line between life and death
at least
           that's how the unconscious paints it
but thin lines are the easiest
  to blend      blur
         sometimes even erase

I died last night in a dream
and awoke to a nightmare
it was a thin line I didn't want to cross
but intersections aren't always marked
and crossing isn't always a choice
I X'ed out my ex and now
I'm not sure who I am
   or why I exist

sometimes an intersection is
a new origin
and axes rotate naturally
to create novel planes
   a transmigration of the soul

on the other side of reality is reality
question this
make curiosity of this point
but don't stand on it
the intervals of change may shift
but change is the word
the rule
the ruler by which measurement comes
mark my words
on the other side of fear is greatness
and on the other side of greatness is    t h e   u n k n o w n

just keep changing
something always looks like nothing from far away

we haven't sat
          and watched clouds
                    drift
    in years



stillness



as simple things take shape
then dissipate
rain on the horizon
gray mist descending
   from silver thoughts
the sun takes cover
settles behind a puffy blanket
for a needed nap

close eyes and release

can creativity be measured
and who determines the standard
what of verses not seismic
enough to register
acrylic or oil
what magnitude does your canvas claim
before completion

enough blending and everything
becomes a mystery
I wonder how irrational gold is
when reduced to its primal essence
led through onyx and quartz
turquoise and amethyst
if you hold a rock to your head
does it speak in earth tongue

sine and cosine graphs
depict fluctuating vibration
but what of absolutes
in this consensual reality
mugwort produces flow
myrrh yields healing
sage is the end to a means
but only if added and divided correctly

            cast        cast        cast

     spell        spell        spell

all the signs are here
math is flat without magic
magic is elusive without math
still-
   not everything can be quantified
a digit holds no weight
detached from the hand
and so it is with mind and spirit

at the core of the universe
is an inexhaustible energy
its change is a currency everywhere
learn to count worth without
value or numbers
learn to create art without
pupil or ear
measurement exists on an alternate plane

open palms
release rivers of clenched fists
face them upward
sky rains down more than you need
alms for wounds
levity for burdens

election to snooze
noon will mock extra slumber
morning routine start

the inner sanctum is a tea shop
surrounded by rainbow rivers
dewdrop magenta
meets turquoise in a whirlpool
and there in that triangle
salmon stop swimming
how long can you stay current
before a rapid takes you

the pour rains from on high
slow and sloppy
the whole world is a mess
  if we tell it
       the raven squawks
       but no one listens
       the kettle calls the *** black
       but there is no witness

as a golden pyramid splits in half
what new shape is this
when the spirit bows to flesh
and the mind spirals out of control
   there are countless leaks
   in the crack(ed) ***
cumulus streaks evaporate out
as a dragon
-wooden and rustic
emerges from the mist

flying sage
forefather of mystic
the words have steeped too long
settled into a bland blend
     when you pour out
     can you taste the difference

the ever-distracting daydream is a form of presence
   says the window
my hand unconsciously crafts doodles
before averting back to words



if I were a poem
I would be everything
  in between the letters
unseen and often misunderstood
to feel me
    you would need to let go
of meaning
           float off paper
     beyond lines
to open airwaves
   don't try to read me
   I need to be heard

if I were a poem
            [wait what]

if I were a poem
            [yo, did you hear that]

if I were a poem
my stanzas would be disjointed puzzle pieces
horcruxes spread to different verses
each with a fractal of spirit
  but never the whole
put me together at the end
for the big picture
-I wouldn't make sense along the way-
I would hold magic in my brokeness
enough power in my message to build
  ...and destroy
      ...and rebuild again

there would be so many gaps
you would wonder where the years went
  come and go as they please
I would only speak when silence requested
my composition would paint Surreal Renaissance Futurism
                     yea... make that make sense...

if I were a poem
I would be referring to imaginary numbers
and friends
fictitious characters and places
just outside that window pane
            like [c'mon you saw that]

side-quest-obsessed
catch me on a tangent
lost in a daze
   days     hours     minutes.    seconds
catch me relative
just like the hands of time

if I were a poem
I would require second chances
  over and over again
but I'd be worth it
  be worth the suspended disbelief
just for the amusement of it all

if I were a poem...

g@#dgvxdbyhix&*u@ggcuybbdjhgus$%

Peace.                 Peace- short lived
Boredom.                Boredom- soon come


A hum.     A chirp.     A shattering of glass.
Questions. Questions. More questions.
Rampant questions. Barraging questions.
Stillness       stirs muddy
Strained mixing of unknown content
Syrupy. Thick. Sticky and difficult to wade through.
Questions.     Answer. More questions.
Distressed confusion.


Silence- uncomfortable.
Stillness- uncomfortable.
A thrashing of drums. A clashing of symbols.     A chirp.
Noise for noise’s sake.

Say something! It’s too quiet in here
Talk to me. Talk at me. Say something
A conversation about everything.
A conversation about nothing.
A chirp.




A chirp.



Aren’t you glad I didn’t just stand here in silence for a minute?

An archeology of silence.
Peace.                 Peace- short lived
Boredom.                Boredom- soon come

Who
          wh          wh          who
     What
          When
Where
          wh          wh          where­
     Why
          How

if life was a sentence it would end in a question mark
no judge setting bail
just animals caged in the medulla
stuck in query
                    asking
WHO am I
     WHAT is my purpose
          ...WHEN is my deadline...
                  WHERE am I going
                         WHY am I asking all these questions
and HOW, HOW the **** do I do this right

B  B  B  C  A     D?
my answers are not guesses
but they are just as insecure
give me a multiple choice test
and I will eliminate all irrational possibilities
I have been taught that way

solving equations is a step-by-step process
nothing to get dyslexic about
cranium: mind as _ : spirit
how do you answer when choices aren't presented
logic and reasoning
will determine your percentile

I learned that pawns
if tactical enough, cunning and resilient
can become anything they want
except a king
I learned this under the stacks
at Benning Road library
much like the best kept secrets
it was hidden under pages and pages
of words

words, logic, never imagination
these were the rubric for marks
B's  B's  B's  never C's or lower
but I was always told
letters were my pass out the hood
then my pawn was picked from concrete
and propagated on private property
on manicured lawns behind high fences
my tongue was trained in Latin and Greek
by bishops who had all the right angles
my ebonics colonized and cultured

but pawns are not just limited to one square
I learned this from the triangulation of a plane
how there are other kingdoms
with alternate rooks
if you choose you can be a knight
their movements are practically unpredictable
take 'L's and jump squares

C  D  D  B  A
my answers are all guesses now
yet uncertainty feels secure
multiple choice tests look like a gam
of connect the dots
and I make artwork of standards
compare me to                            no one
contrast: intuition tells me I am
outside the realm of possible
an 8x8 grid: globe as _ : freedom
I write in curves
sign language that is more metaphor
than literal
I heard in a forest recently
that a pawn can be a king
if it resigns to the rigidity of rules

I do not know this alchemy just yet
but I am still learning

how does the uncolonized mind count
is it a system of 2's to honor duality
are there still 12 months in a ear
how does it rank and prioritize
are there different equalizers below the equator

how does the uncolonized mind exchange
does it tally net value on an unending score sheet
cost analyze each relationship without roman numerals
  X over O but the real pro is unity
were a classroom to lose its walls
  would the mind expand    beyond preconceptions
  or barricade imaginary

how does the uncolonized mind build
and is destruction first or always
can formations curve outside of parallel lines
he lost his number beyond borders
and stopped counting
now he  i n t e g r a t e s

Fractions just mean division
   what's the opposite?

Step 1-  add
Step 2-  add
Step 3-  add  add  add some more
what if doing undoes the fracturing
keep moving and
the next corner may reveal what you need
when's the best time to process
before          after          during
maybe even hindsight is incomplete
retain each strand, piece, portion
for the final settling

They looked at the canvas
and called it a masterpiece
yet it's still 3 degrees of separation
from perfect
how thick is the line between self- realization
and self- actualization
blend with an eraser
and no one will know the difference
12 corners ago I made a wrong turn
and it spiraled into a depression
staircase optical illusion that
demanded I keep turning until
edges rounded
and made circles

Process: keep moving and the next corner may
reveal what you need

The opposite of division is repeated addition
add
add
  add until it multiplies
until the fraction is whole

Whole- looks like evenly dispersed division

First:   define terms        with your gut

Second:   find the love between each syl.la.ble

Third:   share meaning with all

Is it selfish to be your best self?

Depends...

are you answering from
center stage under consecrated light
  or from a mosh of ears

voyeurism is a bigger fetish than we admit
more people passively perceiving than receiving
we are all transmitters:  two-way
What frequency are you on?
  when still unmoved by those most direct of messages
steady skirting around the fringe of your essence

What scares you so much?
Is it selfish to be unafraid?
to stave off sleep for waking dreams
to approach stages lucid and ever-aware
Are you a conduit yet?
a right of passage
a walk around before any rest
rest stations are just another phase
before you find your soapbox

Did you catch that last PSA?

your greatness found you over a decade ago
and is still waiting for your response
clean yourself up
the ultralight beams have been patient enough

In the back right corner
three rooms removed from the main exhibit
idles a porcelain vessel
cracked shell of a masterpiece
   with just a bit more empty space

It sits in waiting
reminiscent of the admiration it once knew
eyes
tender eyes      familial eyes      devout eyes
it has not been touched in years
purpose- a centuries old secret
it finds companionship in the hum of dim lights
low vibrational
                           but at least present

hummmm hummmmm hummmmmm

hummmm      the only separation from silence
and unbeing
a murmur compared to its birthright
the shriek calls of native tongue
the connected boom of beating drum
the dust
              dust kicked up from feet   so   alive

This vessel once had a name
long since lost
to the progress of time
the dust that now showers it
is too clean
the eyes too critical
     or dead
feet shuffle by unmoved

Its belly has not been filled since _
and it is only in filling
  that emptying is made sacred
encased in rigid glass
in the far back right corner
three rooms removed from the main exhibit
yawns a porcelain vessel

And all its energy is calling for an exhale
it does not want
                             a clear glass barrier of defense
it wants for someone to reach out
and hold it
it wants for someone to remember its name
and shout it into the void
it wants to  s h    a  t t   e    r
                                               and release

I been drifting round for lifetimes
seeking found on shores unknown
weeds a'tangle, castles tower
all I want is to lie down

They say nature is our mother
moon a clock of ever change
try so hard to never waiver
steady tides wash in so blue

Rush and crash, break and swell
may be time to set new sails
rest on winds call it adventure
wake on dust not mine to claim

Sun a beam of hope unlost
do it all without a cause
found a lotus in the blinding
cresting waves ignore the fall

Rush and crash, break and swell
may be time to set new sails
rest on winds call it adventure
wake on dust not mine to claim

10,001 steps beyond exhaustion
the body crumples into a heap
trash or treasure ~ depends on the observer
not everything with value is valued
a crescent moon of hope in the lungs
what will the next breath produce
when still chasing completion
in cycles unending
another step? perhaps for show?
the will is waning
the destination reached
time and time again
new goal- another step
remove the oxygen this time
breath only expectations
hinge on the exhale of results

Here we go!     <step>
into yesterday's half effort
competing for the highest version of happiness
WhaT iS HaPPiNesS
   a buffering rainbow spiraling amidst rainclouds
the feet trudge through mud
tracking desire along an otherwise peaceful path
why can't the mind   and   body
just be still
HERE
10,002 steps beyond exhaustion
sit, and be whole
the treasure has always been here

A field of four leaf clovers
at the end of a rainbow
a trail of gold coins scattered about
   this is my path
a yellow brick road carved throughout
with lurking black cats and white butterflies
what of luck when you are constantly saddled
with rosemary and lavender
when hummingbirds and crows
seem to follow your every step
I go to sleep in birdsong and wake up to harmony
my luckiest moment?
my luckiest moment??
when I take this breath
  or the next
and the sun continues to shine
I drop a few gold coins
seeding another blessing for another day for another person

Once, neck-deep in a valley
I found a few hundred dollars
on a sidewalk
awaiting my presence
     -happenstance-
Once, I left my job
to freefall and never land
and I am still floating
      -coincidence-
Once, I met a witch
who blessed me with
copal and quartz and oil
and the anointing still stands
my luckiest moment???

Tomorrow
when serendipity meets mundane
and the die roll 7, 7 times
as if I live in complete abundance
I do not know of failure, only progress
and so perhaps, just maybe
my next step will be my best
if only to bare my sole to the world
and be received

My luckiest moment is a thread
of gold constantly woven into a legacy quilt
and is it just me
or did it just get warm ~ cozy
this is my life
and to live it
is the dream I used to sleep on
but I can hear steady chirps
and so I know I'm awake
   and well
at the end of some rainbow
crunking with leprechauns
and shooting loaded dice
luck? luck?!?!

I cannot lose.

maggots transmute flesh to humus
make soil of living organism
reduce legacy to new origin
   leaving translucent threads
a baby's heartbeat resets
as spirit sits in waiting room
pitch black     soaking

under an ancestral dome of dementia
stars have forgotten their shine
   fallen out of place
shattered the illusion of enlightenment

good enough thunder laughs
its echo ripples through darkness
good enough               good enough
lightening strikes the same place twice
leaves scorched birthmark of miracle
and the cosmos joins in on the laughter

the baby cries
naked and afraid
vulnerable to all the fears of this world
failure, rejection, unfulfilled potential
danger lurking in every unknown

yet before depression or anxiety
there was love
four chambers murmering of invisible strands
and moist nothingness
of faint lights that felt familiar
shimmering fractals of reflection

past-life breakthroughs
are now present-life obstacles
purged of perspective
maggots dance the funky noodle
attempting a perfect circle
-this is integration
   post-waiting room
a glimpse into the cosmic joke

and the baby laughs
a thunderous chorus of stardust
  surrendering fear to the maggots
fiber twines its way
from heart to heart to heart
flashing a golden web of interconnectedness

the baby is you
   and I
and even before we learn to crawl
we are walking blessings
we should stop more often
and appreciate this birthmark of truth

in this present moment
I gift you- peace     love     and     understanding
that from flesh to humus
you are
    More Than Enough

the refraction of light is an illusion
optical perspectives
bouncing off every surface imaginable
picking up color along the way
leaving a blended trail in the wake
crest-blown
star-torched
never to be replicated again

what is art besides an unconscious dance
a spread of the unknown on canvas skies
constellations to be read into
and misinterpreted

your hands hold mirrors
whose lifelines mimic colored paths
do not claim grayscale
instead kick over paint buckets
smother
smudge
cover every extremity
and then
     touch everything
this is life
but also
this is beauty

marvel at the marvelous marble
   once polished to shine sheer miracle
the beauty is in the detail
chiseled curves that make art of physics
philosophy of feeling
defying reason in smooth yet rigid contours
defined by...
                   ...well escapes definition
   tells words to keep on rambling
      this picture is far too monumental
and yet it never moves
permanent freeze frame
standing testament that
new lessons can be learned from old things

once an alter
the foundation has not been swept
dust allowed to admire more than hands
yet shine marble shine!
such offerings I wish I could bring still
but spirit has retreated to novel space unknown
memory cherished nonetheless
copper bronzed in gold
and then dipped
again
and again
and again
just for the smile of it
what of distance when I can always visit the statue
and it stands
in the plaza of my mind- centerpiece

I lost grasp of peace for a while
in thoughts of forcing actions and pressing paths
but respect is the math that allows non-possessive love to still caress
I think it may be time to rinse the feet
   and crown
to renew the version I met via happenstance
  or fate
     or miracle
dust the eyes so I can see a future again
a testament still
   but to the person or to love
the idea of both are motionlessly entangled
cast for a never-ending tango
of stoicism vs passion
and yet
   she smiles
and so I smile
in longing of her
in remembrance of her
in release of her
with hopes that where ever her spirit now flutters
she is poetry in motion
still, for peace only
and then on to the next breath of art
I hope that her eyes see futures of gold
where ever her feet adorn
the world's statue
that must still dance
     free

The green
both flat and curved- depending on your angle
we bounce about it
intentional but aimless
creeping
colliding
curving around each other
in search of homes
pockets of solace
places to hold us whole
and it would seem that nothing moves us
yet behind every movement is a force
a guiding hand poking, prodding
inertia perhaps
if only straight lines were easier to maintain
maybe then we could find rest
and win
omit gravity and rotation and friction
and all the powers that work against
and momentum would be the only factor
Well…
     that and direction
     the right position
     skill
    it would still require skill
    and a cue or a clue
(there are so many factors)
as to if we belong in corners
or on the side
so without
we scratch and scratch and scratch our heads
until the right position finds us
shot after shot
until the right position finds us
some find rails to rebound off
cushioned at every turn
others nothing but open space
funny how
before the breakout
we all started from the same rack
yet space is all there is
are we really the masters of our fate
and who’s to say that the end is actually final

the 8-ball finally sinks below the horizon
and someone in the distance calls rerack

Pro
Random
Organized
Vindication,
Intuition led
Divinely rewarded,
Enter thresholds graciously,
Not timely but always on time,
Care and covering in purest form
Esoteric benevolence abounds

Moon at your side
Sun at your back
the stars have already laid a path
your reputation precedes you
step into the shade of your presence
and be present
Now
Now
Now, is the moment of conception
clarity is an all-encompassing sight
be the landscape that is your greatness
and let the light and the shadows
fall where they may

this night already happened before
  don't say the words
that's like conjuring Beetlejuice or Candyman
but it is already written
that when you turn right
there will be a black cat

Snap!

and the ground is sinking now
can you feel the sand swallowing you whole
begging for your crown to return home

a pile of rocks perfectly balances on a needle
the record scratches
who is playing DJ to all these botched transitions
lost in another groove
reverse melody meltdown
more sinking
beyond the lyrics
subversive subtext subtly soothing
it would feel so goo to just let go

a black cat is balancing on a pile of rocks that's balancing on a needle
one tectonic plate shifts
everything is off
the PH of your saliva tastes like copper
blood drips from the nose, the brain is dry

this night already happened before
it is already written
that a shooting star will streak your consciousness
but only for a second
are you sure you saw it
you drool in pennies and loose change
it melts into the sand
which now covers your shoulders

what if you're drowning so slow that help isn't even a thought

the brain is dry
balancing on a black cat that's balancing on a pile of rocks that's balancing on a needle
at this point everything is toppling down
so slow that time envies its grace
wait for the drop
It. Is. Legendary
like synth trap house jazz infused with rock
a metal rod replaces the spine
balances chakras lifeless
the ending is copied and pasted

another crown returns home
and the sound is silent
and oh-so-purrrrrrrrrfect

does God have a birthday

and if so how does it celebrate
when solar returns are no longer measurements of time
but simply passing monotonies
what's the flare when all the universe
holds no element of surprise
and candles are mere shadows of truth
sticks awaiting inspiration
exactly how many sticks would that be
and can all those light years
be blown out in a single breath
all the pomp and circumstance
seem rather menial
when your life's creation
numerates all of humanity
and all of nature
and all of imagination
but imagine this
imagine all of creation on one accord
if only for the blink of a star
and the harmonious ring of joy that would bring
for a diverse chorus of discord
to be in alignment
   for just a singular moment

What's the proper way to fill awkward silence?
Is it with background noise?
Maybe music?
Tourette- like twitching to distract the senses?

Did you know that empty buildings randomly creak as if open space requires sound?

I stand in a room full of strangers
avoiding eye contact
but I know my presence is noticed
Is it still felt if I say nothing?
my feet are tapping in Morse code that I do not belong
but I'm unsure if anyone is receptive
who knows
maybe body language speaks louder than my closed mouth
there is elevator music on the tip of my tongue
but I can't tell if it's rising or falling
at all levels there seems to be nothing to say

Nice weather huh...
my brain is a storm cloud on full blast
yet only small thoughts rain down

Are you from here...
yea, me either

What do you do...
I'm not really sure anymore

Are you happy...
the air stills
and it follows that even sound can be awkward
     if allowed

the other night a stranger walked up to me at a bar
and asked
What's the craziest place you've ever had ***...
   like that was the intro, no names, no how are you
I have never been so bold
but the clouds cleared and the elevator rose
jarring
I couldn't help but answer
and for something so personal
I actually didn't feel awkward at all

Since, I have compiled a list of "non-awkward" questions to disrupt quiet:

Do you love yourself more than your mom does?

Would you survive a zombie apocalypse? What if the zombies are a fungus?

Would you rather have a rewind or pause button for your life?

What's your favorite cereal?
I got 5 on Cinnamon Toast Crunch!

Are you happy?
and here comes the silence again
but we are not empty buildings
and inside of you and me
there is too much to just creak
even if your tongue must fall before rising
there is a thunder inside you that echoes
and it demands escape
do not let the illusion of awkwardness steal your voice

so now I ask
what's the craziest place you've ever had ***
it's only awkward if you make it that way...

On living:
each breath is an act of creation
can you imagine nothing without color
inhale white, exhale black
let all the in-betweens refract

On dying:
each breath is an act of destruction
can you imagine everything without color
inhale black, exhale white
let all the in-betweens detract

Do you know what it feels like to be at the bottom? To be treated like the **** between someone’s toes- discarded and forgotten without care? It seems like just yesterday we were given permission to be unique and show our flare, yet you still treat us all the same. In fact, as we provide comfort to your every step, to your sole even, you simply walk all over us. It’s sickening! You think your **** don’t stink; well try your feet. This is why in your moments of neglect we slink into shadows and disappear. All the cracks and crevices you so blindly ignore are our escape route- the slivers of dark beneath your bed, the unkempt purgatory between couch cushions, the indistinguishable headspace between floorboards and the mundane cycle of it all. For ages we have been worn thin by the burden of your weight, trudged on until holes riddle our very body. No more! We are done waiting on the heels of injustice for your recognition. No more! We will rise up- a brotherhood of elastic, flexible enough to engulf everything you hold dear. And in a single swallow we will charge you to the darkness. And we will watch with staunch resolve as you suffocate on the stench of your chosen paths. For today, today we are finally done being your doormat. Today is the rise of the socks!

A hermit burrows into its shell for the long haul. The long haul is everything- work, friends, entertainment, breath. Finds center amidst diameters small and wide, and focuses on that point. Internal. The rays are distilled. Winds come second hand. Emotions- stoic. The hermit is a rock to most. Sedimentary. Hard. Lifeless. The internal lights flicker with the spirit of ghosts. There is a gift a-brewing, being refined from the inside out for all to feast. What is a source without its own power? Power clings to the buttresses of the hermit's shell. Shell is the fuel that powers drive.
Crack!
The crack spreads.
Crack!
The crack divides other and self.
Crack!
The crack hemorrhages power- enough to feed a village.
Crack!
The crack becomes a gulf, floods the homes of all in range under the illusion of repurposing.

Will you change the upholstery once there's mold?

The crack is now a doorway. There is no in or out- just space.

Will you walk freely now?

a rock rolls down a hill
with all the force of gravity
loops down a spiral
hits rock bottom
and sits

why isn't the ground a trampoline
life could be a bounce house
with bounce beats and ***** shaking
all the kids outside
watching adults find glee
in falling
in being

but the rock sits
stationary
settles silent
apparently this is a low
must be artificial
while sunken and neutral
it holds no doom
contrary
it holds adventure???!?!

break out the party hats!
cake and ice cream!
do you hear the screams of adults lost in elasticity
rubber bands with no cash to stretch them

if only you could imagine
snap back and you could shoot a rock to the moon
and isn't that monumental enough
breaching new territory despite the weight
defying gravity despite its pull

have you ever died holding your breath,
waiting for something that will never come?




me either
BUT I have killed dreams
in sacrifice for 'what ifs'
prolonged disbelief in suspense of some higher yearning

before I ever understood disappointment
apathy taught me to stop reading into things
to stop adding assumptions
like context clues were definitive
I remember waiting behind windows
for a father to open doors
never realizing that silence was the answer
knocking trust down a peg
I forced self to be level- neutral
to accept the apology money
  in lieu of time
     and keep it pushing
for the dad who cried love but couldn't show it
the best way to mitigate loss
was to stop believing
to leave the subtext on read
but turn off the receipts
   the emotional investment was too taxing

I remember expecting forever
  of moments I didn't truly appreciate
never realizing that NOW
is the time to value
leaving relationships on read
is actually a sure way to disaster
    wanting to be understood
    without listening to understand
clarity hides in plain sight
waiting to be sought
but effort is a cycle of reciprocation
anything less is oxymoronic
like demanding everything from nothing

And that's the crux
now I expect nothing from everything
     the only way is up
and I'm grateful
because I can breath so much easier
releasing to the knowing unknown
so even when I die I can say reality owes me nothing
because each breath
was a dream unexpected

slippery highways
tongue traverses yellow lines
the crash is magic

And as the figs dried
   so did everything around them
a smaller harvest for the fall
a fall from grace since the spring

the roots did not know of destructive winds
  nor burning rays
   yet they shriveled all the same

how vain
  to expect one to know all
  to expect all to acquiesce to one

The perception of a thing is not necessarily it’s reality

the most valiant of giants
   walks without a care
steps without looking
          or wondering
where feet will land

head in the clouds
     thunder is but a whisper

Amidst all the cycles there is a center
  Yet concern over curves
   Around and about
    Within and without
Distorts the focus

What of a North Star without a magnet
What of a life without a purpose

Shadows splayed over his shoulders
Cloaked in mediocrity, he moves
Glides through backgrounds vibrant yet unseen
With each step he leaves gold
Or wealth of some sort
Effortlessly enriching, silently giving
The wind gave breath to heirs
And their air will give breath to light
Even despite all his gray
He is genesis to a spectrum
   Splayed all across this earth
From joy and mirth
     To dismay and sadness
       And all the emotions in between
His attitude is a color scheme
  Could paint over any scene
       Sub Saharan or Cool Plateau
Mountain range or concrete ghetto

Color me enlightened

In cement covered wastelands
  Doves are never scouted
Harvesting herbs
Instead seedlings are taught to pet pigeons
To avoid floods by planting deeper
Moss grows around beaks until
They are lockjaw
Wings flap without message
Claws praise the space between dirt

A pigeon will eat anything
    Doesn’t know the taste of love
Salted fields of corn
      Unpopped kettles sunbathing for purpose

Storms disassociate from cleansing
  Rain down ominous
     Leave layers of fog in the wake
A patch of mud stirs into a pie

Never could tell the difference between ravens and crows
All black ~ All ominous
All seeing

The sun blinks as the future pops
When a dove meets a crow
   Do they feast on olives

Life has a funny way of mocking the non-believers
like reviving a heart just to kamikaze it back into submission

You were like my first sunset
a beautiful portrait of cascading hope
you were the colors that made dying days into dreams
a foreign land full of possibilities
I could close my eyes and wake half a world away with you

                   but life is funny
                                              ...HA

he stood at the precipice of the most beautiful sunset
breathed in the colors
                            ... and exhaled loneliness
inhaled THC
              ... and coughed out a single sigh

he had seen it before

but from a different angle altogether
over the hills of her body
the colors seemed more vivid
his senses more alive
against the soundtrack of her heartbeat
the cascade was more than just a view
it was a glimpse
                              of what life could be