Let us not wait!
For all this to be over
To return to normal (circa 2019)
When it’s not so difficult

Let us not wait!
To enjoy each other’s company
Phone calls used to last hours
And long form letters were an art form

Let us not wait!
To invent and create new
To live out old dreams in new forms
To grasp and create beauty

Let us not wait!
For life to be easier
For fears to subside
For tragedy to dissipate

There is a time to mourn
And the loss of life and livelihood
Has crushed with dense Fog
Of enormity, confusion, fear and loneliness

And in the Fog we must find our brothers
Pull them and ourselves to newly formed graces
Life requires living
And life finds a way (circa 1993-Jeff Goldblum)

don't call me unworthy that I'm not something else
my strengths are my flaws, you see that
let's list them, shall we?
too generous in negotiation
overly trusting, overtly gullible
giving the benefit of the doubt, freely
but you must see, a minuscule biological THING bumped the pendulum
and it swung wildly, early on
opening visibility into human potential
that souls are blind to themselves
you see their flaws so clearly
peering through a horse bridle
or night vision goggles
dampening all but bright-red heated flaws in 2D shallow depths
I understand your frustration
You have a job to do
And I am weeping through my beard
and belly-laughing for something they did twenty years before they died

Friday is an ocean wave
Its break, escapeful way
Of losing ego's footing
To a fragile bracelet weave

Week's aspirations - crash! on rocks
Return to the cadence
With anxiety of the grave
Lost, to the immensity!

how confidently a retired businessman told me I was wrong
how my political views were uneducated, naive and off-base
strongly, then loudly, then in my face
I’m not one to spend my evenings this way, arguing-arguing
I don’t even argue with my wife or teenage sons
life is so short, energies must be spent elsewhere
but the businessman continued building his 95 theses against me
how he knew!
my skewed foundational beliefs, an ignoramus!
ever stronger and ever louder
and I did not respond, as I was not given an opportunity
and I stopped listening, as his face flushed with emotion
thinking how the businessman was lost
at some point, he may have
stopped setting his naked eye to the dark craters of the morning moon
forgotten the more humbling vantage points
that guide away from certainty’s comforts
sifting here and now and us and paint-smeared cloudscapes
un-comprehend
    unlearn
        and gain gratitude’s heart
wake with a smile from a secret source
embedded in predisposition
he has lost his kindness and wisdom
not because he is right or wrong
but because he has blinded himself, as many have
to the quickly found shallow world
so he put me in a category of folks he has encountered before
and I did the same to him
neither of us the wiser
until I stood up in front of him and walked away as he was still ranting
bending over to pet a very friendly dog

Will that friend of mine come to my memorial?
Will my ashes fit in that cigar box?
Will my literature translate through pages to my great great great grandchildren?
Will anyone be as painfully aware of my persona?
Is there an unembarrassing solution to my questions?
Poor Walt, editing away at 1855 pure brilliance for the rest of his years
Decency derives from intense dimensions
And its such a mess
Such love and detest

cage match between
excitement
    and sense of place
clothed in atmosphere
wrapped in the ***** I feel, I feel
sensation - wonderfully dizzying
in the gentle rocking of mother universe
the evening waves
the off-color tall grasses leaning back and forth
sipping a drink-drink
lined with the salt of the earth
permeating cells
toxins in body and mind start to leave
shoulders relax to softer tones
posture realigns to beauty

Space time stretches
Each spring
Days get longer
Morning illuminates
Neighbors walk their dog in pajamas
And all rush off
With no time to spare

the mysterious roar of colorado winter winds
shhhh-es through wool fibers of your beanie
providing deafness to all other sounds
ill-suited as anything
other than the predominant sensation
it is
indescribable nothingness and purity
upending curbside trash receptacles
creating ice walls of former snowfalls
and tears in the eyes of you and your dog
smeared cloud formations set against
the ethereal cerulean hum-glow clearings
cutting its perspective
into a day’s agenda
and while taking refuge
in robust shelters
it howls out reminders of its presence

my voice wasn’t whispered to me
I didn’t learn to think from the professor of moby ****
I hit my head on saint paul’s contentment
upended in reflection
hours upon hours taking in the sky
and more hours
cerulean shaded ethereal hum-glow
to the duration of substance
until discernment was properly cut through
like forgetting unimportant events
until I was surrounded by gifts
no longer standing at an entryway
but spinning and somersaulting in the waves

remembering a high school photography teacher
teaching that it doesn't matter
that a similar photo had been done before
what matters is that I have not done it before

with that in mind
I went on a break of day hike
carrying as much concern for originality
as a grasshopper
or Shakespeare

to the top of the Boulder flatirons
approaching from the east
arriving at a rocky cliff
of the same flat sandstone rock
that the flatirons themselves were forged
where a bench had been constructed
from dozens of stone pieces
tucked into the cliff
with still enough distance from civilization
that one could only hear the faintest siren
positioned to receive the mid-morning sun
I accepted the invitation
to recline and relax my eyes
to consider
the collection
of other high school lessons
most of a training to perpetual middle-class non-identity
but occasionally
something worth remembering

the building is corporate
offices
assigned parking
subaru, audi, tesla
I'm at the attached deli
staring out the window
sitting on a bar stool
sipping icy high fructose corn syrup
and the delicounter guy grows in eternal frustration, with no one to answer his primordial scream,
"number 54 buffalo wrap!"
I read headines on my phone
about nothing substantial
someone is choosing their words carefully while bringing up doug's proposal
just over the music volume
its all pop
all treble
unable to reverberate the bass
or the ethers
can this even be called music?
its sad noise
yet there is something at stake here
inflated egos
**** eating grins
and where the hell have you been

great stories open behind sad eyes
each subtle note
from a great fight
foreshadowing blindspots
from the epic

the elephant in the room
is that I am beautiful
and you, as well
as this day’s potential

what is a day, but a rotation together
conscious magics between deep chasms of sleeps
we enter both world’s beauty willingly or not
with lizards running on desert rocks
and mister suicide’s cough
and gentle seeps, of that which is far too delicate to mention
but in small whispers

unrealized by walking remorse all over the island
I can see it
there is something about every day to frighten
yet there it is
beauty’s generous smile
given to those who grew up as you did
making the same mistakes

friends, happiness must come solely from generosity
what else fills the cup that floods the soul?
what else breaks habitual self-focused hysteria of selfishness and greed?
and vows not to perpetuate a small view of oneself, and others?
what else?

at best, tonight ends in rest-filled sleep with possibilities
of an old lover probably taken for granted

at worst, well, it can always get worse
no use dwelling on such things
those scenarios receive more than their fair share

quick one at the ale-house
heart open this january evening
dimly lit by coal-fueled electrical responses
illuminating habitual relapses of overconfident tones
and dishonest scared shitless eyes
clothed in the modern pigmented
grey and black dyed organic Patagonia cotton

everyone wearing grey and black?
even the messenger bags?
caps beanies glasses hair-clips

holding nothing against
fearless beauty loses the modern-cliched surroundings to be validated by none other than the undercurrent of the entire universe

Dark wood cabinets, black leather chairs, middle aged and greater men, college football in a backroom, with Lead Belly playing softly in this one

A cigar shop after sunset

You consider sticks to buy after selling tech stock, to stock the newly acquired humidity-controlled locker

When a pointer out of blind-spots
A predominantly nonverbal gent
Through strong, painfully sincere eyes
Points out one of yours

It involves moving past the need to announce one own's prowess

You take it
Without offense, defense, or alarm
As one sits in a circle, surrounded a ******* primal tribal commune, desperate to fix the issue of you - they need you better, you see

Dare not dismiss it
Even over the next mornings second cup of black

there's two ladies talking
about things
they don't dare mention

I need to backpack again
not to get away
but to go in
immersion!
into the elements
like sliding gently into a hot spring pool
I will go!
going in – deeply
to sightline’s ample expanse
where I am NOT a small fish
but a star, in my corner of the darkness
a sun – that builds with one’s willingness to see it’s place in the universe
a light that blankets itself across the breathing canvas
that is perceived and conceived
more than in different months and minds
but as an elevated mirage

I need to backpack again
beyond accessible peaks and valleys of the rockies
to shared trails rarely travel during winter seasons
only inhabited by a few birds and critters
and mountaineers preparing for their
“conquering of the seven summits”
I would gladly join either group, if invitations were sent
but would also be quite content now
to leave the earbuds in my pocket
to feel, to hear the prickling of the chilled alpine winds
through fibers in my wool beanie
even as I traverse slowly over rock, ice and snow

I need to backpack again
to scope out shades that would present themselves, and say hello
to reflect in all thy reflection
to breathe slower – and slower – and slower
breathing out toxins and anxieties
inadvertently allowed to enter my humdrum, my rhythm
effecting and infecting even my organs
the fresh altitude air now needs unfettered access to my lungs
and the snow-capped cloudless afternoons
give permission to much desired snow-blindness
coffee and tea take on new meaning as well
and each sentence of a sand county almanac can be read
and my muscles will gain power, endurance, fortitude
and thoughts of loved ones will fondly skew themselves
and I will be neither king nor extra
but a small dragon – with limitations and capacities equally known
emotion and temperament need not invent themselves here
not from the electron exchange within, but arriving from the west
I can see it all, I start to desire it all
from the front door of my office
it’s calling now, and I need to go

I need to backpack again
not to get away
but to go in – deeply
to sightline’s ample expanse
that builds with one’s willingness to look
in light that blankets itself across the breathing canvas
that differs in concept and perception
more than in different months and minds
but as an elevated mirage
these inaccessible peaks and valleys of the rockies
have trails few travel this time of year
at altitudes that invite only a few birds and critters
and serious mountaineers making their preparations for their
“conquering of the seven summits”
I would gladly join either group, if there are openings
but would also be quite content with
my earbuds in my pocket
the chilled alpine winds through my wool beanie
trekking slowly over rock, ice and snow

I need to backpack again
to see the shades that would present themselves
to reflect in all reflection
to breathe slower
breathing out toxins and anxieties
that have been allowed to enter my humdrum, my rhythm
effecting and infecting my organs
to allow my lungs unfettered access
to all the fresh altitude it would like
to blind my eyes on the snow-capped cloudless afternoons
where tea and coffee are most pleasant
where a sand county almanac can be read
where my muscles gain power, endurance, fortitude
where thoughts of loved ones fondly skew themselves
where I am neither king nor extra
but a small dragon – limitations and capacities equally known
where emotion and temperament need not invent themselves
in the electron exchange within, but arriving from the west
I can see it all, I start to desire it all
from the front door of my office
it’s calling now, I need to go

A famous poet
A master
Of thirty (or more) years
Of teaching poetry
    (taught by Ginsberg I've been told)
Left a voicemail...a generous offer...to read my poetry
To give me instruction
At a downtown coffee shop
For fifty dollars an hour

Fifty dollars an hour?
Shouldn't he have an office?
Well, it's as close to a 1920s parisian dive around Boulder as one could find
I used to hang out there
And write before work

Eh
Perhaps it's not as weird as I think it is
Perhaps I can ascertain a love for language that couldn't be achieved outside of reading my Blake, Whitman, Hemingway, Lawrence, Dickerson...

He will read my poetry
And guide me towards accessibility, honesty, vulnerability, courage
I will be relatable (for once)
With beautiful imagery
That will open
    universes

I am suppose to text him back

Is this what I want?

What I want...thats something folks closest to me dare not ask

What has what I want have to do with anything in my life?

What I want, what I want, what I want

I want my voice to come forth effortlessly from my adventurous life, my song to echo expansive landscapes and treks, to learn intimate knowledge of plants and rocks, and laugh with the beautiful people that inhabit such places

I know tonight
Nothing matters
Until
I set an opportunistic sail to this change in the wind

I have already ventured deep into this life, I've not gone gently into the night, so why start now?

The time to shove off is soon

Like Whitman said...
"AFOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road...
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose"

Hell ya, brother Walt

Walking into a coffee shop
Are they even open at this hour?
It's early
I awoke early to the sounds of my own dreams
But still slept soundly, half of my tea and open Hemingway on the bedside pedestal
Awake now, and proportionately functional
I walk to the coffee shop
Through a freezing Colorado December morning wind, that sweeps through these Boulder foothills
And a dark blackness
In my senses and sight line
Limited light pollution
I don't see the open sign, is it on?
Where is it?
A full moon through the fog
Causes a pause
Through wind-stretched clouds
The surface craters can be made out with the naked eye
The overtly bright beacon
Causes a moment of infinitesimal disproportionate yet absolutely true disparity of size
of universe and self
Thank God, they just turned the sign on!

gonna break out
the final ride
the other side
of all elaborate eyes
there's life exploding in the night
while my heart beats for more
plight flight - freedom's fight
desperate to the land of too many choices
to the end of all things
to dragon lair and blonde locked hair
there's a chance

.
Solitary voyages
With capacity's charge
Whisper each confidant's song
These messages, not far

There's people always with us
They're conversation's voice
What's read, echoed, repeated
Is motive over noise

And rather than giving creed
To that which smiles the most
Gale forced regret blows the stern
Return of ancient ghost

The lone muzzle for the beast
Which fogs entire seas
To entertain love, beauty
With freedom where you please

deserving nothing
so you say, with great audacity
proclaiming all as gifts
proclaiming what has been overcome

you appear now before me
    sitting in your canoe
    at the bottom
    of the drained-empty lake

victorious!

Connection is not made by drawing hard lines in the sand
We can only draw off of the blurred relections that bounce the water's surface
And we suppose the cause
We guess
We estimate the source that is reflected
Based on our own reflection
It's true, I have never walked in your shoes
But don't exasperate all ignorance to believe for a single iota of time you have walked in mine
So, where do we go from here?
At what point across the increased expanse can we build a bridge?
Believe it will be worth the effort
All good in history has started this way

there is always more beneath
the surface of seas, skins, and deep sighs
these visible clues, cues, and rues
tip off the astute to a sublime prime with possible power
the antonym and antidote to social media political posts
worlds in nether realms
offset the cliff bells
erasing the modern monotone monolith ringing tinnitus to us all

crazy, but that's how it goes
millions of people living as foes
maybe it's not too late
to learn how to love
and forget how to hate
mental wounds not healing
life's a bitter shame
I'm going off the rails on a crazy train

What? Conscious mindtrick
Souls impassioned to each other
To hold
To drink wine
To whisper through the stillness of an evening
In talk so sacred only the ancient ancestors and unfeathered spirits can comprehend
    And pour a cup of their own to listen and laugh in joy
To love your life and see another's perfection as a full moon backdrop sunset dripping with the thickest ink with the most colorful pigment
Dear lovely
Dear sweet breaths
Your cheeks tell the story
Here I am not afraid

Almost all hide truth
Almost all
It is the few that are essentially mad
Who expose the private
Compulsively divulge
Who, nakedly unknow
    any and all shakles
No time to receive
    your judgements
They're busy with deep enlightened laughs
    for days
And we dare not overcome our terror to look these souls in the eye
These tidal waves of truths
These callers out of our ****
These unpredictable prophets!
There's no telling where they may point their magnifying glass!

With a background track of
Still cool desert air
I am capable
Despite hopeless rhetoric waves
To focus on an image of prominence
Receive, I can, this moment
My skin seems to appreciate
The cloudless desert bathing
New Mexican green chili
Digests slowly in euphoric pulses
An ecstasy in newness
An esthetic level of interest
Opening its petals to a sunrise
But the sun has set
Lost track of time
I'm not usually up at this hour
Lost track of tomorrow's worry
Not even sure what it was or for
Laid before me in stark clarity
Secret cosmic powers to the best imagination sources
Indeed, the essential novelty of it all
Primative forces that foretell
A forgotten language
I know intimately
Only given to the subscribers
Of the magnificent
    graceful rə-ˌzē-ˈstän(t)s
To shackles, or any limits
To the most boundless breaths
All friends at the mountaintop
All love on dirt streets
All simple
All art
Life is Beautiful
It's not over
It has returned in Enormity

A day full
Of passing fads
And great lies
Time, space, boredom
Pain, worry, sorrow
Now deep Bordeaux with body
And a body full of ecstasy
Reading Hemingways short stories
And Poetry by masters
And strong breezes
Hold no unsettling power over me tonight
I contain multitudes
I go to far destinations
I follow rabbit trails
    To their inexhaustible ends
I dissolve here now
A peaceful allow to joy
Hold this not against me
I give in completely

you wounded soul
what comes over you
to clothe you in disdain
your joy and love
used to overfill every cup
in pouring distance
do you remember?
you emanated joy
your face
your speach
your walk
good lord! its in your eyes
you insolent desperado

did you hear that?
a song calls us to dance
a joie de vivre
calls
and if you can't hear it now
i will give you all the sacred
space you need to find
your way out
of the pit you've found
yourself in
until then
there's a loud hawk around here
with stories to tell

as a barista
continues to call out
desperately searching
for the poor lost soul
who ordered the
pumpkin spiced latté
only to vanish into
the darkest depths of
societal, civilized obscurity
so i stand before you
holding out
all my gifts

my mistrusting eyes
throw stones
undeservingly in your direction
they're from
an old case
that should have been dropped
years ago
why i haven't been capable
of shaking it off
im not entirely sure
but no matter
you seem entirely capable
of doing so for me

awaking in the middle
of an early walk
it matters not
what I do today
it matters not
if any thing matters perennially
in intent or outcome
worth not a while -
for the leaves golden
just below
an autumn september expanse
of still steel light
and my lungs get filled
to capacity with life itself
three strides - in inhale
exceeding walking meditation -
walking rumination
meager wisdom illume
that today's matters
are too wonderful for me to understand
and so
I understand it all
competently, completely
as the bishop knew jean valjean
as the universe knows a seed
with each abeyant breath

resentment looks bad on you
as does calamitous offense
zealous to justice, you cried "unfair!"
but comparison
    is the thief of joy
    the consistant producer of noxious suffering
remember laughing cares off
so hard you forgot
    the details of the offenses
releasing the mind to behave like a...
school-boy, approaching heaps of raked leaves

same reason some
picked up their charcoal
to paint on cave walls
then others
wailed inside their
exploding hearts at onsight
renderings of Mozart
these half moons in half time
the old rhythms
and cheap rhymes
play with our utmost expressions
and for some
the only potential
to release the drive
to madness
and pure love

in the universe
    or universes
    or beyond, perhaps
is enough unknown
    worthy of learning
if just to appreciate
if just to understand
the magnitude
of my ineptitude
to make me unable
to give any time
to know-it-alls

When eyes can't look to you to answer
The subpar common english greeting
    "How's it going"
And the only uttered response is
    "Peachy Keen"
With that wavering inflection
    the "eeeeen" continuing
        an unnatural length of time
What they are really saying
Is that they are fighting a terrific battle
A struggle-filled battle
Caused by
    their own neglect to admit failure
    not wanting to acknowledge
        a life turning out...not how their eight year...or seventeen year old optimism expected
And the untold spaces between their quick high octane
    awe-inspiring
        and beauty-filled social media posts
Live longer bouts of dejected dis-coloration

And none of it is real
And the collapse of this dis-ingenuity may have been fueled
By terrific loss
But it's impending collapse
    (if they survive)
May just awaken the truth-soul itself
To finally come out and say "hello"

develop taste for the cheap stuff
the simple stuff
put your mind at ease

pass over not, enjoy it all
and go where thy please

a gentle, timid, quiet soul
held back in unknown chains
many years a dormant stirring
boiled-over passion remains

then a swift break - glass ceilings down!
observing ancient law
society errs in naming most
she conjured her wild claws

we are all from women
women try to become as good of women
as where they're from
or much much improved
men are from women too
but don't understand their origins
remotely
and try to connect with another woman
who is usually
some sort of version
of their origin

We must face our fears
To begin to create
Art matters
It directs our fate

Conversation that guides
Steps that lead
Hearts are moved
Life to bleed

never ever ever
******* give up
keep learning
keep loving people
and all living things
keep comforting
keep enjoying nature
the greatest tides can turn
no one knows what is around the bend
let all that has beauty
and peace
consume your mind
and shoulders
releasing the fight
completely

quiet dormant sleeping lion
a great story, in us all
ferocity caved copper chains
unshared passion, safe and small

break a father's glass ceilings down
operate in truer laws
let not society cage t' beast
conjure up your wild claws