"intersected" poems
All alone, again
Feeling meloncholy and captive
Within a cloud of intentional isolation
As each thought comes and goes without an answer.
Memories flicker in the crime scene of my mind.
My perception is clouded by questioning every suspicion.
As I try to stay unemotional and rationally make doubt my enemy.
This day has now ended and I have not made a decision.
Wondering when indecision and fear have intersected in my life.
Have I become so insouciant that I am blinded?
As I grow old and in my final hours, could this be my biggest mistake?
I am unwillling to dwell in the present and find happiness again?
Hours spent suffocating myself with regret
Tried to harden my heart to the point of no return
But, I perservere and try to rise above the abundancy of pain.
Licking the salt from my tears as they drip to my lips.
I now lay down, so silent that even my breath is quiet
Asking if the pain is worth the possibility of a true love that will last.
Will he crush my heart with unintentional love for another?
A chance, I guess, I am willing to take. Or too soon?
I can only pray that the right answer will come during my slumber
And it will be within the will of my creator
Praying that my dreams will be filled with the answers that I seek
And tomorrow will be full of love, trust and loyalty.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
I've always been in place,
in situ
Maybe (just maybe) ...
I'm sui generis?
When my lifeline intersected with spacetime on this continuum
I found myself moving toward a collision course with duality and non-duality
Moving towards a zero-point
What are we talking about?
Nothing (Rafelski & Muller, 1985)
As a geographer, the mimetic expression was dualistic
As one plane flowed through another;
as fiat lux flowed through Medicine Rock
I found wisdom
I further explored the duality @ this place
(also known as University of Lethbridge)
The U of L is an interesting duck
It walks like an Albertan university
It talks like an Albertan university
But one of these things is certainly not like the other
The U of L got its chops as a house of learning for the Liberal Arts
Follow those roots and you'll see conduits to another spacetime known as UCBerkley
U of L memetics share material memories from the birth of the Free Speech Movement (1964)
And as Arthur Erickson drafted up his plans for Canada's centennial gift to the Province of Alberta, I'm sure he would have been partaking in the pleasures of this particular spacetime
I'm sure at the very least that he was listening to Hendrix wax on about Castles
As Erickson designed this modernistic monolith called University Hall
There were influences such as Arthur C. Clarke and his novel 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
He was certainly knowledgeable of the Blackfoot stories of the Old Man
And of course as an architect he would be versed in gravity and how built structures on a slope tend to creep toward base-level
Strange but true, Erickson's first degree was in foreign languages
So what I see is Canada's premier architect wrote a poem for us in 1968
In a foreign language
And that poem would be expressed over the next forty to fifty years
Some of those primary poetic elements were:
Berkley, California
Hippie Movement
Creep (or gravity)
Base level
Blackfoot creation stories of the Old Man
Jimi Hendrix poetry and his savage musical genius
"and so castle's made of sand melt into the sea, eventually."
So let's reinterpret that line to be more U of L centric
(through my glossy apertures)
"and so monolith's made by man melt back into god eventually."
........ ....... ...... ..... ..... .... ... .. . zero~point . .. ... .... ..... ...... ....... ........
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
People in essence are spiderwebs
Each so fragile and beautiful
Yet so strong and full of purpose
Each molecule is connected by a strand of the web
Each thought intersected
Woven into another
Yet separate, unique
There are no two alike
Though many are bland
So distasteful
Never living out their full potential
Instead being destroyed by tiny things
The fears and doubts that eat away at the delicate strands
Still someway somehow the rare few so complicated
Protected so carefully by their creators
Manage to hold their true form
Even for a second in time
They capture drops of inspiration like dew
As the sunlight fades the useless webs left unprotected
It also catches hold of the glimmer of inspiration
Suddenly transformed into a shining brilliant treasure
The web can maintain these inspirations
Build them into anything they desire
Or they may allow them to simply lay in shadow
Weighing them down
Until they come crashing from their position of glory
To a simple puddle of ruin
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
I often think about how and why our lives intersected
and how strange it was that we used to be nothing more
than two bright-eyed five-year-old kids
in the same kindergarten class over a decade ago
and how now we were lying down side-by-side listening to Hozier
through his beat-up headphones and stargazing in the back of someone’s pickup truck
and it’s strange how
neither of us had the courage to point out
the fact that there were no visible stars in the cloudy sky that night
because
that
didn’t
matter
all that mattered was the fact that for an eternity and a half,
I had felt more like a glass left half-empty and yet now I wished
that this moment would never end,
that we could just lie here in the freezing cold that burned my bones to the core
just because my head rested fine on his chest and that was enough
and I wonder why it’s so hard for me to open up to him
even though he unfolds himself for me,
opens up doors to his beautiful soul just so I am able to peek through
the cabinets where he stores all of his reasons to live, and
where he hides the parts of him that he would get rid of, if he had a choice
I want to tell him about the poetry I have found in the way he walks,
he talks,
he breathes, and
how staring into those ocean eyes makes me feel
like I’ve suddenly hit the bottom, permanently gasping for air,
but
I love it,
I love it,
I love it,
and as we stare up at the sky
in the back of an old pickup truck
by an old crumbling church,
my God, his voice matches the silent hum of the street lights,
burning in sync with our imaginary stars
and at this moment, I am no longer an almost-empty glass,
I am alive
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
Goodbye.
Yesterday, tomorrow
the life before was.
I’ve met you before
*as we sat down
i watched worlds align
in your movements
and stars become
black holes
in jealousy
you are beautiful
you are beauty*
we drank the night
to day;
dizzy, star-struck,
watching time stop
in our swaying movements
*too bad
she couldn’t hold her liquor
our drunken timelines
intersected
in stumbled
introspect
skipping steps
i enjoyed
our spinning thoughts
and tongues sharing
aged language
alongside new bottles
until i was forced
to watch her phase
in and out
of herself*
that moon *****
must’ve had more
than she could handle,
because the next day
there was a new face
on her course,
wasting happy hours
shouting sad times
to morose microphones,
*if you fail
to sing
your anger will
leave you to scream
and shout
similarities
stunningly simple*
masking taxation of
tie-ins’ infusion inbreeding,
demonization of sharing similarities
left time socially awkward
and unacceptably indulgent
of the mindless self
*tonight i will
join myself in song
it will be a hymn
rhythm saved by him
we’ll circle ‘til its begin*
we’ve refin
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
*///
After a long time from its origin,
the river has bend into two ways
it has intersected by a *******
on a meandering belt,
created an angel between two lives
One has moved toward the right,
a narrow uneven sway,
that tributary stream has flown on fight
as if it one will be die within a short way
Another, that I have traveled
the straight stream,
a simplest form of life with a distinct velocity
may be at the sea where it will be settled
but that little one has made my curiosity
Yet, I see that one
how it has gone
i think about its trend
and feel how it will be end
A boat is waiting along with the *******
i don’t know,
why do it wait and whom for!
and where, it will go!
all sorts of thing I feel when I have stood on my toe
///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen*
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
our sky is spectrum
there is the peace of
a lake’s night-face
in our presence,
the ratchet of a thousand
orbits encircled-
wholly intersected through the palms.
a collective vibrato.
this unmasked, awesome wave of
silent happenstance
gathers kneading masses
to lay deadly beneath
oaken inscription,
cast about the heavens
in splinters of light.
our shaken, fevered dance
does not separate the halves
we are corpus callosum,
a passing stab embodied,
writhing jazz rhythm
untouched from pre-production.
so slice us into maps.
paste our highwayed bodies
in the grinding gloom
we will be your compass rose
when the pedals
are no longer smooth.
we will grace the dirt
when oceans are no comfort.
the palm-lines of healers
and street urchins
are the same.
child,
this anthem is your name.
if blood runs black,
a frame collapsed,
will we sing over your grave.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
she posts her credentials
privately, to just you,
in the din of a currently popular
university barroom
and you dressed in your
pick up best,
plumes of all male grinning,
reeking in thinking -
oh yeah!
va va voom,
lucky
laughs and liquor,
cheap 3.2 Ohio beers on tap,
come super highway fast via
as my finger flick be wagging
to an attentive bartender
who recognizes,
a new venture worth
his investing in a newly forming
gene pool of the
collegial world of what you children
can google as
The Sixities
you see, she says,
she is minor famous,
had two minutes in a movie
called Woodstock,
instantly recalled distinctively,
which you honor with
a dozen roses rising of
very cool
and a few daisies of
wow
so young,
she's hitch hiking thru life,
karma, ying and yang, Sagittarius and
Hesse's Siddharta,
a little ****** break out back,
our lives have intersected in
Cleveland in 1969,
and there is no question unanswered,
your bed, is her bed,
this night
you puzzle yourself,
memory recycler,
why in 2015,
you celebrate a one stand,
a single strand
excavated from
the meta data of your brain
tonight,
from among a hundred lifetimes previous
*Why Woodstock Woman Wonder
and you do,
why, wonder,
have you stayed with me so long,
that your face is indelible tattooed,
easy extracted from ancient cells
risen by this
dawn's early light?*
are you pining old man,
are you dying old man,
trying to write it all down
before the insurance company
grumpily has to pay up?
this carefree woman, no,
young forever girl,
looking up to you
asking where can she crash tonight,
answered in a single guttural
exclamation sensation,
with me babe,
with me baby
fifty years later,
crashing you,
crashing with you,
with roses and daisies that never died
wonder where she is today,
a grandmother multiple,
or sleeping gone from an overdose
of stuff you occasionally fooled around with,
or are you spending another night
in your tripping life,
with another
one night man*
no answers given,
but it is, it was,
a single dot on the trail of dots and dashes,
the existential Camus moments of
of two ordinaries that intersected,
however briefly,
and you wonder,
not why, but if,
*Woodstock Woman,
do you remember me?
I need you to,
I want you to,
explain better
why we are crashing together
one more time*
~~~
August 20, 2015
5:32am
nyc
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
there was a morning that awoke
to dreams of you
holding coffee mugs full of your words that you could never speak.
[for my hands were full&clasped;
with the covers of another lover,
but you held the chalice closer
so as to keep it warm until
I emerged from my slumber]
& there is this evening that feels
glimmers&flashes; of a new awakening:
awe & wonder & immaculate passion, too.
[the covers are beginning to recede
as I emerge to the brand new season
& reach up for the mug that awakens
& renews
& answers my questions
in the language that you&I; have always spoken
in our secret places]
come back to me, I plead,
even though I am the one who left,
& it has not been easy…
but I would like to unwrap the whispering whatifs
that have comforted me timeaftertime
since the day we first met:
whatif
our fingers intertwined &
whatif
our embraces became eclipses &
whatif
our paths intersected
& stayed that way on a journey for some time?
[just think of all the things we could see
& feel
& write
& listen
together]
destinations, destinations;
we’d be walking in crooked lines
composed of our mistakes, unpredictable emotions,
but our honesty & forgiveness would correct our straying.
[& we’d finally be moving forward
somewhere,
which is better than backward
just about anywhere
--especially to all the places we’ve been:
heartbreak &
harm &
holding on to who we’ve lost--.]
so you shut her door,
& I’ll burn his bridge
& don’t be afraid to sing Hallelujahs as I
fade to slumber on your porch in the rain,
for just because the seasons will change,
doesn’t mean that I won’t be standing here
to cover you in the midst of autumn leaves
& fears of Falling.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
a potion maker,
seeking the formulae
of the combination
of the
known and the none,
the wizard’s ideation
of the secret spark of
creation, the starter fire
of human destiny & desire
who needs gold,
when,
the power of birth,
the mystery of girth
the fluids of oils,
plus 57 varieties
of human blood,
in a precise tabulation
the sap of human cell
constructs, heated
gentle on a low flame,
do not forget, or regret
if the salt & pepper
of discernment is
overlooked, the sighs,
*the quiet of boredom,
the leveling moments
when creation is initiated*
and then
my heart can be
known to some,
even careful read
between the lines ~
the lines on my eyes,
the cross hatch upon
a forehead, the crinkles
where time and laughter
intersected and injected
*the whites spaces between
these words*
enough enigma…
never!
Jan 26, 2025
Jan 26, 2025 at 10:12 AM UTC
It seemed like a story
For Schrödinger
Time and distance ensured that
They were
All things and
Nothing
At once
And, in this way, they stayed in perpetual orbit
She wondered if
In another life
In another place
Time
Universe
Their lives would have intersected
Instead of diverging
Unrequited
To haunt her with all that could have been
It was the bitterest irony
When at last their paths swerved together
That both hearts had already been spoken for
Somewhere
The Fates were surely cackling
As the air hung heavy
With all the possibilities
That died on the vine
Because time was never on their side
How could one even cry for something they’d never had?
She found herself heaving uncontrolled sobs
Shaking with unfettered grief
In mourning
For all the things
She had wanted to live
All the bright dreams of their teenage years
That had seemed so perfect
Shattered by the bitterness of
Growing up
And that old ******* Father Time
If she were honest with herself
She’d admit it was not him
She actually loved all these years
But all the things he might have been
—or rather—
All the things she might have been with him
What a different life she might have had if
One day
She had followed her
Wild teenage love
Instead of living in this cosmic joke
She’ll never know
But she’ll heave sobs
For all the parallel lives she is not living
And the orbit she will return to
Knowing she’ll never be satisfied
She’ll always wonder
Always be gazing off
Trying to glimpse a galaxy
Where things turned out better
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
Dirt roads crossed
They intersected into ones
United the lives
Filled the forgotten delight
Jealousy fell in one direction
Blue minds filled another
Black minds were the wisps of the forgotten
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
Your skin was veneered in glitter and glass
That will surely shatter soon
And scatter and spangle across the evergreens
So you can’t lead me down to your garden path
Strip yourself from all your artifice
What are you?
I can see your misleading eyes
Across the dance floor
When this masquerade ball is over
Who will you be?
A fine damsel in distress
Maybe another skeleton in my closet
Or a succubus in my empty bed;
And no longer the monster underneath.
I took the risk and
Kissed your vinaceous lips
And so I got drunk
We entwined like vines on a trellis
The way we intersected unintentionally
But not impossibly
We’re like dangling strings of a violin
The way our melody remained unsung
Until now.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
I would trade a million memories for a moment with you.
A lifetime of complacency for a second of bliss in your arms.
Eternity of heart break for a minute close to your soul.
I would wander the earth til the end of time,
lost and forgotten to experience one kiss from your lips.
Sacrifice every material treasure to just hear the sound of your voice.
Comb the world for centuries until my path intersected with yours.
The vastness of my heart can only be filled by you.
The magnitude of every emotion exceeds beyond my wildest fantasies.
Find myself tumbling into an intimacy like the world has never know.
Eyes closed plunging into the reality where only we exist.
Gravitating closer and closer until eventually our bodies connect and become one.
Currents of passion flow freely between our skin.
Every sense is heightened
Every emotion translated into touch, kiss, heat created by friction.
Scintillating, exciting, consuming ecstasy ripples through our bodies
Until the line between us no longer exists.
Light fills the room and every dark memory of the past is eliminated.
Like a paint brush to a canvas, you smoothly, gently stroke the colors of rapture
across every inch of my body.
Intoxicated by your gaze
I give every bit of my body and soul so easily to you.
My heart races and the ground begins to quake
Sparks fly and the eternal flame is ignited.
As your lips discover every line, every uncharted territory of my body
I slip into a euphoria
Tingling, soft chills fill my limbs
Taking me to a height of pleasure that radiates and washes over me.
Complete for the first time
Joined as a whole body connected on a much deeper level than the physical
I melt into you and surrender my existence to your will.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
Some people shape them into words.
Some people organize them in rows
And the people you don't hear about anymore were making ****** columns.
Well, I think I fell in love with the way
I could watch the pain pour away from me
and empty into a dark puddle of crimson warmth. I left puzzles under my skin; deep lines that
intersected at dead ends up my sleeves
and down my ribs.
Sometimes they fell apart into this
rAnD0m mess all over my ankles.
Everything that touched me was immediately
lost in these chaotic pools raining from my veins.
I woke up early most mornings to drown my
insides in a sea of hot liquor.
You knocked on my door
holding a coffee and a pack of cigarettes.
We counted ceiling tiles all day
with our limbs intertwined.
You painted the fine line between
pain & romance on a white canvas
& hung it over my bed.
I stayed underneath it most nights but
every time I crossed it, I called you just to weep
into the phone.
I think you liked how much I needed you.
I think you liked feeling necessary to any
existence outside of your own
& I think I liked having a vessel to empty my sorrow into
so I guess that's how this goes...
the fine line between pain & romance erodes
over time or gets smeared in the heat of a moment
and here we are, watching our seams come undone at the hands of the only one who
can save us.
Here I am...
unraveling in the moonlight...
salt water tears pouring down
from my eyes to meet my chin.
Once the romance ends we are buried in the debris.
The p a i n is all that's left
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
i've sung to you at traffic lights,
accompanied by a fanfare of car horns.
all our lives:
intersected and interwoven.
longing the measurements
to cross over,
as our impatience
collides with travelers,
also lost
without an atlas,
all so concerned
with where they are going
and not where
they are.
inspecting fashion and make up
in rear view mirrors,
intoxicated;
by how they appear,
and not by who
they are.
so it is there,
in our most rushed hour,
i ask that you
hold us still,
in suspense
of your orchestration.
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 8:05 AM UTC
Do you toss the novel lightly?
-- Does it pound like your warbling
throat?
When you sleep beneath your
brother's armpit in trembles,
an etch collects the final drafts
of sick glasses, smoke and
Scottish gin patting your cheeks.
They are light against
dark undertones, the folds
of a curtain tucked for a spider's habitat;
for you.
I trace pirouettes in the back of
seamless air, countertop
wished to a balcony.
You do not stand (here).
I waste and recycle my fruit,
and sometimes naivety makes way
towards dented knees,
calves flexing in grey scale.
Once, we intersected city sc(r)apes
through glowing letters,
bar blinking red and I still clicking.
That is when my scent imagines,
eyes but a clam,
lingering in your body's bread.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 11:00 PM UTC
oxymoron overdose
deadbolt atriums
intersected playlists
the unluckiest clothespin
a mailbox full of compliments
wallowing asterisks
carpeted portraits and
unearthed apologies
it all stemmed from backseat rattling complexity
lighthouse morphine
seventeen somber ached explosions
sipping acrylic reveries
cleverly blossomed illusions
thigh stumbling permission
clumsy german metaphors
thirsty chapter jigsaw keys
worried cities newfound screams
vision confusion and pity bottles
poisoned school affection
oh christ, darling
a deaf chorus
thoughtless phantom
seed eyed stranger
road scarred sighs
***** locked moths
velvet butterflies
a sweeter sleeping spine
growing began expression
storms lack protection
yesterday placed comfort in salvation
the vast presence of a strong man's island mother
hazel vacations
a shattered soldier
trembling girls in sorry gardens, limbs in full bloom
naive humming mirrors
children having mistook living
trees half known
whispered smiles and mattress lullabies
cigarette stories firework insecurities
books begging
floor stopping feeling
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
Today
I will sing my sins as if I
Hadn’t yet learned right from wrong
As if I didn’t recognize
The becoming wrinkles of my skin
The fading of preconceived thought
The fading of what we were
As if I don’t conjure up detonating
Definitions for what we depict as
Reality,
As if I don’t feel it
As if the wind doesn’t rattle through my
Bones and shake my soul and wither
Me away
You reach out your hand
I turn the other way
Chrome colored lines that intersected
At the wrong time, the wrong place in history
As if I don’t consider
Dying, intentionally
Projecting perceptions through this lens
Titled reality,
White upon the spine
Drawing images and you feel it,
The finality of your
Vitality
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
It's the way he looks at you a vet said
He's right
Your brother gone, only you are left
cross eyed full blooded Israeli street cat
who, as soon as his eyes were unstuck from infection
gave me that look
A tiny kitten, the size of my hand
He looked into my eyes, past the retina
into what lay beyond, my soul?
Human and animal boundaries blurred
He wanted to know me
Most cats are just cats
Like your brother,
Beautiful eyes, but a cat's stare
A cat's life, intersected momentarily with a **** sapien
a ground ape
But you are different
You are interested in me
You are a cat who studies humans
Who wants to know them, bond with them
He's a great cat, they all said
at the vet
My precious one, please stay a long time
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:51 PM UTC
The actors shuffled around the stage,
In a hurry to deodorize themselves of what they were,
New words are getting recreated,
The vapor of the past moment taints the air.
It takes a neck at a right angle,
And a smile at a linear relationship curving upwards,
The machine spilling new pages,
Receiver ends watching standards getting ruptured.
Now you have to pay a ticket, a cost,
To live through a screen, framed by your acting skills,
Because what once started as a perfect match,
Now is only worth a motion picture's thrill.
The patterns that once ran parallel to one another,
Intersected along the way, now sitting perpendicular,
Running low on impulse amusement,
Backstage, the two actors were nobody in particular.
● ● ●
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 8:11 PM UTC
I wanted to know the taste of your scent.
Not your name, the way you're biting your lower lip
Or when was the last time you brushed your shoulder of someone passing by.
I didn't want your eyes on me,
I merged with the environment in which I found you,
In the frozen air and in the move of your hands when you remove your hair from your cheeks.
I wanted to know the diameter of your pupils,
A reflection of your face in the water, intersected with lotus leaves.
You stopped between my steps and I remained transfixed,
Terrified by your proximity,
Your universe, thousands of light-years distant from mine,
Your dimension, painted in the colors of purple and rotting peaches.
Your breath, elusive unknown,
Rang out in a space in which I found myself trapped with you,
Bordered by my unspoken longing
And with the way the wind touched your eyelashes.
And you moved on, with my eyes
Imprinted in the depths of your body,
Leaving me and my desire to find out
What shade of blue do you dream
And how many wisps tangle around your fingers
When you pass them through your hair.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
she jostles under the vine serpents,
knees scraping trees,
green light bending onto her skin.
she’s a dirt daughter
shoeless, careless
the breeze reinvents her smile.
she arrives
her toes press hard against the sidewalk,
and she takes a clinical step forward
her pale moon face
begged by the wilderness to return.
on the other side of the street he bursts from
the subway, his feet neatly clicking up
the stairs.
his briefcase swings
tightly on his hand
his dazed green eyes scurry across
tuesday’s bachelorettes
and they fall in love at least a dozen times.
he arrives
when they stumble into the same civilization
their eyes collide.
they could be blinded.
or they could catch it.
it would run under their skin
like voiceless hummingbirds
awakening their architecture
and electrocuting their blood.
yet love doesn’t just happen to
to the yin and the yang,
or the bird and the bee.
people aren’t perfect puzzle pieces.
love happens best to the disbelievers,
to the fighters, and the skeptics.
it happens to those who know that in order
to make a spark,
you need some friction.
it’s a howl of wind:
constant and spontaneous.
it can vanish and evolve:
always new.
it can braid lives together
like a man with green eyes
and a woman with a pale moon face.
maybe its all been done before.
but there’s something about the way
he juggles a sentence on his lips
and how her face rearranges into a smile
that seems new.
the story doesn’t always sound like this
but humans are like destinations
intersected and scattered
life comes and goes
and sometimes
Love arrives.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC