we are static on these channels
rushing to be heard
whipping through empty space like a fast current
         where are we flowing?
just trying to stay current
         what are we showing?
currently nothing
                         we are static
can you hear our unintelligible pleas
      please...
   listen
can you hear us
      rushing
we just want to be something
rushing
   can you hear us

listen
         listen
    listen to the static
we are more than just noise
hear us
                           please
we are changing

I caught the sun with my hand
and ate it like a blood orange
pulp bursting through my seams
it seems imagination has lost its shine

Do not fret for the future

you'll never get any further into it

          than right now

                                             or now

                              or now

When inspiration comes
Backslap that *****
   And smile
Tell her her reception is too shallow
To catch these waves
120 megapixels in just one character

Stop them                                                             ­   I can hear the noises
Stop them                                                             ­   I want to
I want them                   laugh with me

We are the all- singing, all-dancing crap of the world.

First:   define terms        with your gut

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

Third:   share meaning with all

my shadows warn of looming undercurrent
   it is already here
familiar shackles                        ankle-biting
     at old touch points
feet trudge
                      heavy
                              ­    then light
                      heavy
                               ­                       then light

I cut my strings 2 years ago                                (some of them)

                                                      the crown tips

shedding is continuous
heavy
            light
heavy
            light
heavy
­            light
                           I am learning to carry it well
to march
                 — in spite of burdens
                                                       /excess is a burden
                                                       /my burden is light

a forced dance at my feet
  I shuck and jive
   for a reticent forest
leaves applaud                        trees are unamused
                 — they’ve taught me better

                                                   stop running
                                                      plant in it
                                                    breathe it in
                                                              ­                  winter is   here

I see myself best at night
in broken mirrors
sharp edged memories
that bathe in liquor

I find myself in a bar bathroom
   with soap and water
scrubbing harder than ever before
but my hands are bleeding now
and they were already *****

I think I ****** up again
at least, that's what this guy keeps saying,
and he won't shut up
I'm bleeding now and he won't shut up
   shouting so loud I can't hear my thoughts

but I swear
   I see myself best at night
   bathed in broken memories

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 moon is the grand architect
feel her pull in high tide
             feel her push when unsure
  on dark nights
  in urban scapes
   surrounded by artificial light

she still shines through
her blueprints are mystery
especially when ideas are new
   she is a slow reveal
     an inspired temptress
                    lean into this
press fingers into her curves

as she undresses
visibility is not always the goal
but when light reflects
it is inevitable

while we question her cycles
she is not afraid of the rebuild
       the versions we hold of each other
       died many moons ago

what came first:
          the inhale      or      the exhale
is the moment of transition
a peak or a valley

this is the question of birth and death
    of rebirth and culmination
the leaf whispered to the seedling
yet neither remembered first touch
  a mother's womb is its own ecosystem
       a dark moist vacuum

           regalia regalia

she wants to lie down
and stop feeding but everything
relies on her
   even if she is just a link
she must be the strongest one
stand up when others sit
spit conviction while others question
in the endless spinning
she must have her own orbit
she has always held tight to what she needs

needless to say
she has been both twig and tree
and she came first waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay
before any man

I could see myself clear before
  the distortion of time
warped perspective has taught me
  sight is unreliable

wrinkles and greying hairs
smile lines and dimming irises
  age betrays position

some reflections breed only hate
  but I want to feel pride in growth
in observing tradition
  there are cracks in my face

the mirror in the distance
holds my ancestors' disposition
                                                     ­              is that a grimace or a grin?

slippery highways
tongue traverses yellow lines
the crash is magic

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.

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

amnesia finds me searching for what is lost
                    value or sentiment
                         the words           are               the first            thing           to
                                                              ­                                                       slip
each
at some point
    originated from these hands
their texture is unfamiliar now
though it's only been one day

full-on compositions are
released to the void
     luckily clouds hold some vapor

I hope it rains tomorrow

forecasts say it's unlikely I will
ever see you again
your disappearance hasn't even occurred
   (to me)   yet

dust will fall
but will ashes
                          this is a lesson in fighting for

I sighed it all away
  before any instinct to clinch
       or swing
          or break

am I better composed than my poetry
simply because I accept
          without questioning

the formulas are lost
      the charge is lost
            the message is lost
yet I still hope to discover myself

amnesia will remind me tomorrow
of another item vanished
but today I plotted out
a future
and nothing was missing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 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

the incentive for truth is self-fulfilling prophecy

we have been lied to in circles
and led to believe time is linear
but the end does not justify the means
circles have no end
                                   or beginning

before any axioms are presented
start with why
                           why ask the question that leads to the answer
                           why seek the answer that leads to more questions
the axiom is bliss
now dismantle the argument without lying
          to yourself                                                  to the future
                                       to your neighbor

why ask?                         -knowledge
why seek?                       -wisdom
why teach?                     -clarity for the cycloning circles
this means       before our end
the collective should know
                                     know- who, what, when, where, how
why?                                -for the sake of prophesying
                                           for the sake of manifesting

there is no timeline where stupidity
is a virtue
and we are past axioms
so ignorance is inexcusable

in the Salem Witch Trials
girls as young as 4 were murdered for fear
  of their magic
fear kills more dreams than ignorance or stupidity

the incentive for truth is self-fulfilling prophesy
so how dare we shatter the mirrors
and nail the windows shut

we do not know what
                                          we reach for
yet it awaits us                                                     beyond
                                                          ­                                   the visible
                                   within the potential
energy existed before touch
       kinetic art
                            ever in motion

candlelight is an extension of wick
                                                            ­  and inspiration
a  n   e  x  p  a  n  d  i  n  g   a  u  r  a
        breaching the frames of darkness
we are just as greedy
   our hands
      our mouths
         our minds
                they all run toward our outermost limits

heaven only knows
what escapes our clutches
                                                arms
   ­                                                       branches
 ­                                  fingers
reaching into the azure sky

                              1000 petal lotus floating
                                           in metta

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

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

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

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

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

Love is both muse and music
both poetry and purpose
a symphony of serendipity


The perfect love poem takes just minutes
to imagine
    but a lifetime to create
though words may flood your page
seek the source
love is the strongest force
        it exists beyond language
    is felt before touch
let your sentences be drenched
in intimacy
and punctuated by appreciation

Even when communication is nonverbal
let its essence be affection
     devotion
not only are run ons acceptable here
they are encouraged
marriage is not a life sentence
but an epic of possibilities

Adventure forward knowing that
the future is unknowable
but you are forging it   -   together
ellipses are waiting for you
you create time
   mold it to your will   -   together
trust the process
                              but also
trust each other
     to be auxiliary verbs in
       the act of loving

Seek understanding in your verses
             there is no winner
when existence is the goal
     co-existence
     co-creation
ego aside
be co-stars for the Virgo moon
live in the ease of each other
  even as cycles spiral around you
  even as you spiral around cycles
be the period that stands firm
                                                      for your partner
even under questioning

When line breaks feel like endings
   indent   and   reinvent
you are both forever changing
   so change together
   make edits together
it is a lie that brainstorms are
only the beginning
they will find you
in idle moments
  when the mind wanders
   raining down doubts
though ideas may blot your page
again seek source
  and what started your course

Write to each other
Write for each other

The perfect love poem takes just minutes
to draft
    but if you do it right
it is always under revision
even after you decide to publish

I am steadily thinning
             light blues holding me together
                                                      (t­rying to)
  a rambling wisp
                     nebulous and airy
I want to puff out my chest
    be abstract art
                              for your interpretation

  I look down at you
                         as you look up
                                                        I am dying
such is the cycle of it all
            I hope
                              simply
                       ­   that in my shedding
                                                     you will prosper
                  that when I rain down
                                                    you will catch me

or try to

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?

election to snooze
noon will mock extra slumber
morning routine start

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

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