I'd rather watch the unevenly tall grass sway in an awkwardly flimsy wind
Than watch Jerry Orbach monotonously crawl his manicured tongue to an acting Deputy
"There goes my beauty sleep."
Or watch Ricky and Bubbles scribble words in the air over **** jugs and cement a post-modern cynicism of the world as a great big piece of trailer trash.

I'd rather watch the moisture accumulate on the synthetic brown border between wall and roof in an overcast runny-nose rain

So I guess what I'm saying is

Television took my vision
So I took my vision back.

silent march past abandoned store
working the burger has got me teary eyed
Bowsprit kicks me into 7th and I stop,
and I stop.
ears ring, head spins, goodbye
I'm moving to Lund to hug the red wood.

Somewhere along the line
it feels like I lost my poetry.

But I've always had a deep affinity of childhood curious-gaze with the light of a passing car slicing through a slumped drapery in the dead of a powerless October night
like a fumbling mouse with night-vision, glassy eyed, walk, walk, walk
run, run, run
scurry-rubber like an imperial humvee of red-carpet glamor.

Somewhere along the line
the freeze of a less-than-bourgeoise temperature never felt close to Antarctic
until the ring of a cell-phone became my national anthem
and the complacent all-eternity-and-everything-we-are-and-more reflective one-eye of a laptop became my national flag
I waived it with surrender calling to all nation states that 'I don't give a sweet ****,
entertain me.'

watching politics like sports and sports like politics I couldn't help but hear the old Native inside of me scream in suffocated final breaths so I turned up the volume to drown him out
and when I wished to return to his comforting embrace, I found he had drown to death
so all I could do was stand over his wading body in the river of my mind and lax my shoulders in defeat.

I rang the midnight church bell of 'send new message' to tell the world that didn't care
the shaman is dead.

all they said was
'finally, the shaman is dead.'
I nodded, laughed, locked the bathroom door
and cried until the river ran dry
the shamans body so far down creek I could pretend to forget he had ever existed

the ache inside became a masked anonymity with the glare of Dorian Gray
I shrugged and said, 'I could never make time anyways'
and fell right back into my sleepy routine with another cup of coffee.

The best way to honour a passing or passed loved one is to go through every feeling naturally, and let it all unfold as it must. But do not let it paralyze you; do not let it destroy you. How do you think your loved one would feel should they see their death, ultimately, caused your death? They'd feel pretty guilty; they'd wish they hadn't passed and they would become angry and upset and destroyed in the thought of its inevitability. As such, the best way to honour a passing or passed loved one is to passionately pursue life; enjoy every moment and accomplish with the thought and the memory of them in your mind and imagine if they could see you and say, "my death did not **** them, my death helped to bring them alive, so now I know I can truly rest in peace."

That's what it truly is to let a soul rest. To move on and let their flame fuel your essence, not burn it to ashes.

That is true love.

Did I ever tell you of the day I cleansed my Saturday?
Saturday kept kissing me goodbye, telling me 'I need to be free, please let me be free,'
And I said,
"Acceptance,
Acceptance."

Once upon a time, Saturday weeped upon departure
But now I know that Saturday is fine
Doing a loop around the world
Tasting, touching, talking, taking,
And listening to tales from the Cascades to the Pyrenees
And every Saturday,
Saturday returns to tell me all she's seen.

And she tells me as I bathe her affectionately
Until she stops mid-sentence and we fall into a soft embrace, our essences dipping intimately into one another to recreate the world from those silver square circles suspended in a sunbeam

Saturday undresses me slowly
As if unrobing a long-dead Egyptian pharaoh
Gazing upon my naked body like shes the first in a thousand years
Each time a grand discovery of the New World

And we sink further into one another
As the silver square circles of the sunbeam imprint themselves beneath our eyes like diamond tattoos

And every Sunday I awake alone in bed,
With a note on the pillow.

"I am free,
And you understand
That this must be true love."

Water falls the seashore
Like the ocean hugs the land
And land starts blushing.

The oven whispers heat
The meal riles in smiley pain
This food is ******.