there are places
we never echo

our words do
not carry

the clouds
do not move

and the wind is
not present

the earth is
happy to hold

our secrets
it is ancient

it has heard
everything

in every language

it is the safest
place to scream

She fell into
      Captions, summarizing
    her Raw
             Emotions
           unAware
            the Mounting
                     Empty space
                was Devouring her

I cut myself
with

blades of
grass

roseblood
drips

creating
mourning
dew

mother
sun rises

awakening
the healing

powers of
heat and light

I rise as one
who is free

to live a
second life

I remember
it was dark

the flame
of a candle

cast a
flickering

shadow

lighting
a path

to our secret

we dare
not breathe

we could
lose our

light or
give away

our secret

if I am quiet
will he leave

I do not want
a present

I do not want
to be present

the snow is
no longer

fresh it turns
to ice and

I am always
cold

winter seems
so long

this year

exists in everyone
we all belong to it

we all wear masks

the mysterious
machine operates

without orders

we muck through
our swamps

trying to make
sense

to make
it common

to tell each
other we

understand

but we can never
tell the whole truth

about ourselves
not even to ourselves

because we don’t know it

the past is a voice
you do not name

it has too many parts
you are the center

but you are never
the star

it is a breakable
chain that holds

you back

attached to all
your weak parts

it repeats itself
but you never

see the pattern
it has so many

voices

seeds hold

the secrets
of life

the patterns
that make us

the same

we bury
them and

hope no one
notices

we are not
really unique

but seeds never
remain buried

and secrets are
always told

and we see

ourselves
in each other

even if we
refuse to

admit we

all come from
the same seed

I didn’t
say a word

all day

I didn’t
speak

to anyone

the TV was on

must have said
something

in a certain way

cause siri asked
if she could help me

she couldn’t

come to terms.  what does it mean?  our words meet each other.  in the middle.  they consummate.  and change each other.  and maybe one day.  we finish.  each other.

we reach.   the momentary ******.  but the river is always.  changing.  as we are always.  changing.   we cannot step.  into the same river.  twice.  we cannot meet the same person. twice.  
we are never really the same.

each day.  we must.  come to terms.  with each other.

the day I waited
on the curb

it was your turn
to have me

I had no watch
I could not tell time

to stop moving
so it passed

and when the
street lights came on

she decided it was
time to get me

she held my hand
and squeezed

trying to mend
my broken heart

each step
I take is

a dance
without
a partner

everyday
is a practice

for a life
I never live

little one
has a point

she uses to
poke me

she doesn’t
have a lot

of words
but she

knows how
to use them

one day she
will bring

down the
world

with her
point

and maybe
then it will

work

the graying of sound
one beats two beats

oh lord please

put my pieces
back together

the one
love she was

yanked all
the petals
from my
heart

one by one
I  l e a r n e d s l o w
motion

as she released
the words
love me not
in a whisper

I am so afraid of wind

the addict
or the needle

tonight I could
be either

nature’s dream
who she wanted

to be

a safe place
for life to

grow and
nourish itself

cycles of life
and death

where everything
gave itself to

everyone else
and everything

was alive as
long as there

was life

shed like
a cat but

make it tears

leave them
everywhere

so everyone
gets them

all over
themselves

so they find
them in

the strangest
places

and wonder
where they

came from

I am a silvery pill
consumed by her

compressed chemicals
dissolved by her wet

released into her cells
and spreading

past the ephemeral
racing to what matters

exploding into colors
she never played with

before

she is a hand puppet
leading a holiday parade

of mayhem and laughter
of material destruction

seeing past the ephemeral
racing to what matters

she lays in gray
dreams of a fog

where she could
dissolve and

disappear

become a form
that has no

place or substance
that cannot be held

or controlled
by anyone

this beautiful
complex man

with the magical
voice

a master of
wonder and

words that
help me

develop
imagination

and feelings
that want

to be shared
he speaks

and I listen
and speak

for myself

I worked at
a dairy

stamped the
date on milk

containers

warning people
when it expires

or it is supposed
to expire

there is no way
of knowing for sure

when we start
to get lumpy

go bad
taste sour

should be
thrown out

I could not wait for
these words to leave me
at first they were these
little pleasures
these sweet secrets
I whispered to myself
when the lights were dim
and the stars came out
feelings wrapped in a
warm towel
placed on my soul
to comfort me
when I was alone
but the longer I held
them inside me and
kept them to myself
the more they started
fester inside me
to go bad
like a fruit
to break open and spread
a poison inside me
so when I heard them
I felt sick
I didn’t know
feelings had a shelf life

I find her
like me

damaged
and alone

sitting
raw

and naked

in the
abandoned

dirt road

waiting for
something

that will never
come

to run
over her

wanting to
feel

her last
moment

she plunged
her tongue
into my mind

rushing past
all the surface details

to tease out
my deepest
thoughts

she stood
in front of
everyone

shaking her
shapely
swizzle stick
for effect

her voice quaking
with uncertainty

as she read
each line
my lines

trying to make
everyone
think they
were hers

then she blushed
in front of
everyone

realizing that
even though
the words
weren’t hers

they were about her

she was not much
younger than me

but she so easily believed

growing up in a world
that did not deceive

the words around her
were soft like angels

seeds of life that
nourished her

shining stars that
would guide her
to truth

I was darker than that

words in my world
were twisted little
creatures

small poison pills
given to me
to be swallowed whole

but I swallowed them
just once

I only let them
spread through me
once

I only let them
make me sick once

the next time
they were given to me

I crushed them
into dust

placed them in
an urn on my shelf

so they could never
be spoken again

she was not much
younger than me

but we lived in
different worlds

I do not wake

following shades
of grey goose

into darker places

she is a twist

a dance of
pretty particles

intertwining
integrating

with just one
subtle movement

she whispers the
name of god

I am stiff and
obvious she

understands me
right away

I cannot hide
in my layers

of skin and scars

(my usual places)

my mind does
not function

I cannot make
choices

I am

urgent
immediate
exposed

my lies
die and
turn to
dust

she is
the wind

I am awake

she did not lie.
she spoke the truth.
to him.
and then.
about him.
about their moment.
together.
he didn’t.
but truth is always.
stronger than power.
it just takes more.
time to reveal itself.

couldn’t sit still

made many nests
out of the discarded

was startled
by the sudden

and scared of
being held

created sounds
so pure

they made me cry

I could watch her
listen to her
name her

that’s all she
let me do

I was in a church

I was in a school
created by a church

there were teachers
and preachers
and books

everything was certain

the beginning and
the end
were certain

nothing was gray

black and white
never kissed

and then there was her

she was mathematic
she was the differential

and after we kissed

she said
angels die

so matter
of factly

that it must
be true

I was always parts
of others

held together
with white glue

sticky not strong

not strong enough
to stand on my own

I met her
by accident

she opened herself
and spoke to me
with her soul

soft words

that I could hold
within me

soft words
that did not
damage me

alien words
that let me breathe

alien words
that created
more space

than they
occupied

freeing me
to become

from another
world

her light
let everyone

feel warm
so they could

release their
pain

she was innocent
but she took

within her
the hatred of

others

dissolving it
turning it

into her light
helping everyone

feel warm

skin like
paper

to cut or
be cut

she is
vulnerable

in his hands
in his words

she goes to
the place

she can be
alone

raises the
temperature

to scorch
and screams

dreaming
she is going

down the
drain

she sang

slow
deep
****

hypnotic
lines

a spell

all
eyes
exposed

she moved

slow
subtle
****

stretching
all
her
parts

she was
part
animal

a siren
longing
for
pleasure

a partner
to
please
her

first day

sits up straight
hands folded

on his desk

looking straight
ahead

the bell rings
he is quiet

ready to listen
he hears the

whispers
around him

he is not
tempted
by them

they do not
disturb him

he knows his
limitations

he can only
focus on

one thing
at a time

and now

it must be
the teacher

we tiptoe

the fresh water
the cold first

day of spring

we feel the goose
bumps grow

rising up our
legs into our

speeding hearts
our hands

desire to speak
their first words

but they have
not learned

a language

so we remain
still and smile

knowing
something

is changing

today

we do not know
the future

we do know

it will be different
than the past

ice is melting
glass is shattering

the pain of
the planet

matches

the pain of
the people

none of us
are perfect

but we need
to learn how

to heal if
we want to

live as

the people
on this planet

entering a world

with words
without meaning

the poet is
without words

feelings becoming
a soul disease

a virus

for him or her
or whatever form

this creature takes

the poet knows
there is no point

to live in this world
poets do not write

words they dance
with meanings

and in a world
without meaning

the choose to
speak through

their silence

I think my true
home existed

before the
big bang

the first
sound was

too loud
and divided

what was pure
the connection

that made
every element

one

every sensation
was felt by all

at once

so there were
no secrets

he was a soft
part of the world

so easily damaged

at night
before dreams

he escaped

into his tears
the puddles

on his pillow
he did not

make sounds
it was not in

his nature so
no one knew

he was drowning

we didn’t
know better

we played
hide and go seek

in the old graveyard

the only light
was in the sky

the grass was
soft as a bed

the tombs and
tombstones

so easily hid
our small bodies

we meant
no disrespect

silly kids we
just liked to play

anywhere we
could find

he is a silly man

in his past life
when he spoke

it happened

but that was a
simpler life

with problems
that could be

fixed by others
just by wishing it so

in this life
problems are much

more complex

and people around him
are not paid by him

do not work for him
may not believe in him

are not controlled by him

in this life just
because he says it

doesn’t make it so
he has to work

for it and

I don’t think the
silly man

likes to work
or knows how

I wake
at night
the stars dance
to god’s hum
nature plays
her tunes
that blend
so easily
everything
knows it
part by heart
there is no
stopping to
think
there are no
streams into
or out of
this place
you have to
get here alone
through silence

simple is
the pleasure

I seek
but I believe

it takes work
it is earned

identifying and
ignoring the

merely complicated

spending my time
working through

the truly complex
travelling the path

to understanding
that ends with

a momentary aha!
which starts

another journey
to the pleasure

I seek

I am in a room.  the door is closed.  then disappears.  the windows are boarded.  shut.  then disappear.  the walls start moving.  closing in.  then disappear.  people appear as a mass.  their lips are moving.  but they say nothing.  I am searching for a face.  that feels familiar.  I disappear.

I am in another room.  it is a cathedral.  my imaginary man appears.  hovering above me.  covered in a golden robe.  he speaks to me.  his voice is thunder.  his words are ancient.  he is my master.  he is my god.  I disappear.

I am back. in that other room.  the people reappear.  they become trees.  trees made of paper.  one piece of paper.  a forest of paper trees.  my arms are elastic.  I extend them.  around the world.  I cut them up.  the trees.  make them individuals.  free to leave the forest.

there are babies in the corners.  they have new brains.  filled with billions of creatures.  bumping into each other.  they are strangers.   hoping to make connections.  hoping to become familiar.  hoping to create a new voice.  hoping to create a new language.

I introduce myself to them.  but I don’t think they understand.  to them.  I am moving lips.  saying nothing.

sheds
everyday

we are
different

beings

in so many
ways that

we don’t notice

we are
always

becoming

perhaps if we
could notice

the changes
we could

more easily

forgive ourselves
and each other

feeling loss

silence is naked
desire is a

shrinking violet

a blurry body
captures subtle

movement

the essence of
change

you have no form
you are ill defined

and loosely connected

you remain
unknowable

to me

there he is again
dancing in my brain

he jumps so high
and tries to hide

the skinny boy

always running
playing games

taking jokes
making jokes

getting into fights
he mostly lost

but he never quit

and he could be quiet
and he could think
and he could cry

I remember him
he was so silly

the skinny boy

Entering an enclave;
an encased little city
in the sky.

I must appear the same
today as yesterday

blue suit, white stripes
a corporate tiger
black shoes, wing tips
an ostrich
because I cannot fly.

I smell the fragrance of the artificial;
emotions set in stone.

I brush against the texture of coats on
the wall, the building up of artifacts.

I can feel the artistry and the
attitudes of the painters

templates of the care taken on both
the good and bad days.

I hear a cough move quickly
through cubicles; a contagion,
a protest song.

If I stand still at the top for long enough
I can see the patterns of movement
beneath me.

I can see atoms dancing to the bumps
and bruises of a life lived in an enclave
in the sky
as if it is a choreography
as if they are living out a plan

but I know there is no plan
only reactions; being set in stone.

the morning
lingers past

noon

blankets feel
like skin

nothing comes
to mind

I drift in
and out of

dreams

eventually I
feel something

scratch an itch
and get ready

to start my day

there are these
small creatures
skittering about
the earth

they live on
another frequency

they are tuned
into all the sudden
and subtle

movements
moments

feeding off the scraps
left by others

they are curious
creatures

if you remain still
and silent

they might approach you

but as soon as you move
make a loud noise

they will scurry away
and hide

I am a small creature

I am no longer
whole

I am separating
from my meaning

entering other worlds

smaller worlds with
smaller meanings

I can no longer
see the future

so I hold onto
the past

or pieces of the past

small islands that
keep me afloat

I look for other
islands to connect to

hoping together
we can create

a new world

but with small
meanings we

can only create
small worlds