I think I've always been alone . . .
At least, as long as I can remember.

But there's a part of me,
                       that still feels so connected --
To something near the source,
                        At the core of somewhere true.

Where we exist without our existence's limitations.
Where duality, begins to mean overlap,
                         And both fiction and fact,
                         One and yet another,
                         Things like "this" and "that"
                         Are the same, still . . .
Innocently unseparated,
                         In this place near to creation.

Maybe it's just my brain . . .
                        I do have a habit of creating dualities.
"Together, or apart? No," I think.
                       More like doubting infallibility.

                        --------------------------

So when I say I've always been alone,
I have to ask myself:

                                              "Have you really?"

"Of course you haven't been.
But who you are right now,
is no longer that you . . .
At least . . . not fully."

                                      "So, if I was alone then,
                                       Does that mean that I
                                       might not be any longer?"

"Oh, no."
I explained back to myself,
"I think you misunderstood me.
It's just . . .
That you'll never truly know,
Until there's nothing and nobody."

                        --------------------------

That's a haunting truth to tell yourself,
            When you're off in your own head.
At least I won't be alone in my regret,
                         When I'm among the dead.
I'll find community in that.  
Surely,  that's the place to which I feel so connected!
The place where maybe two of myself is enough
                      to make just one of me feel,
Like I'm worth something more, than more or less,
                      In a place that's neither there, nor here . . .
At least, there, if I don't feel connected,
                     To myself, I may feel near.

Before me lies a mass of shapeless days,
Unseparated atoms, and I must
Sort them apart and live them. Sifted dust
Covers the formless heap. Reprieves, delays,
There are none, ever. As a monk who prays
The sliding beads asunder, so I ******
Each tasteless particle aside, and just
Begin again the task which never stays.
And I have known a glory of great suns,
When days flashed by, pulsing with joy and fire!
Drunk bubbled wine in goblets of desire,
And felt the whipped blood laughing as it runs!
Spilt is that liquor, my too hasty hand
Threw down the cup, and did not understand.

i like it when my vision fills with color
kaleidoscoping into hybrid hues

or when skinny fine lines
grow into weathered wrinkles

i like it when borders border on nonexistent
and everything blends together
unseparated
unsegregated

i like it when lines grow bold
the strokes of a paintbrush gaining confidence
with every motion

i like it when lines are crossed
over and over
into a tangle of yarn
everything connecting
dissolving
into
a ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff

i like it when lines are blurred
and reality breaks down
letting my imagination roam wildly

i like it when things don't make sense
because i always know
that i can find that line
that leads me back home

the things only human eyes can see

the faint every-color-yet-no-color glow
masking the sky
there is no clock in my room but there’s
one somewhere out here
buried in the ground maybe where I left
all my feelings to dig up on accident
another day

I thought there would be stars out but
they’re asleep already
I thought everyone was asleep by now
but that is never true
I wonder if they’re happy
the people rumbling past in their black
jeeps
or taking the freeway just for driving
nowhere

I wonder if they’ve ever gone outside in
the middle of the night because
everything frozen suddenly overheats
and then the freeze turns physical and
everything stops again
but they can’t help but wonder about
the next time it’ll thaw
unexpectedly
because that’s how feelings are
you think they’re gone, and they are
for the most part
but even if only a shell of something is
left
shells hurt to walk on barefoot
and I’m always barefoot
except right now
I put socks on because I knew it would
be cold
.
everything out here is quiet
muted
there’s still sound
and I’m still shivering, but from the cold
now instead of from the heat
and everything is numbed
except it’s not
it’s the opposite of numbing
it’s poking and prodding at the parts of
me that were asleep
and here, as tired as I was, I feel more
awake than ever before
and the ground is getting warmer
it’s because of my body heat but I want
to believe the earth is welcoming me

it’s pure life

it’s so fresh and new
even though it still seems like
everything is dead
but it’s the fourth month
so everything is really starting a new life
we’re a little behind because of the
lack of oxygen up here against this
mountain
but we can start a
New Life
no matter how late in the season
it’s 2:05 AM according to my dimmed
screen

I wish there wasn’t a screen
I wish we could hold everything with
our hands
touch it and feel it and truly know it
but everything is suppressed
like dipping a finger in a fish tank
and wanting more than anything to pick
up a golden shimmering life
and just feel it
but knowing that fish aren’t meant to be
held by human hands
just looked at by human eyes
but looking isn’t enough
human eyes are meant to see
see things that other eyes cannot see
but who looks at a fish and really sees it


it’s 2:09 AM but in my mind I picture the
sun
waiting
just for a little longer
it knows I’m not ready for another day
yet
I want it to be cold and fresh and clean

as long as it takes for my frozen limbs to
thaw out later
I’m wishing the cold to stay
it’s cozier when the warmth comes from
within
totally self sufficient
and yet unseparated from anything
surrounding
it’s not just
surrounding
it’s

threading its needle through me
shards of air puncturing holes in
my lungs
blades of grass poking up through my
ribcage
growing through my melted heart
I can’t decide what temperature to keep
it at
do I freeze it? a heart at 32 degrees? or
so motionless, maybe it’s at 0 kelvin
or should it be set on fire until it burns
black
neither option seems entirely healthy
so I think I’ll just stay here
in my blanket
shivering but never warmer
not thinking about anything but
obviously
thinking too much about everything

I get lost in my brain
I don’t even know what it looks like in
there
I would get lost if I went too deep
I might accidentally trip and unplug the
icebox my heart is kept in
would it melt or just go bad?
//
frozen fingers stretched out too long
I need a gentle touch
someone to tell these eyes they need to
close
they deserve to close
I haven’t taken care of them
they see as human eyes see
everything but not enough all at once
overloaded but unstimulated

but we choose to see

the world holds too much
sometimes the right choice is to stop
looking and just feel

it’s 2:22 AM
if the sun was my friend it would nap a
little longer behind the mountain
but it just does its job
I am glad
I need another day
a
New Life
I’m not a tree
but maybe I can bloom late with them
I can grow pink ruby blossoms
and they’ll open when they feel the sun
on their faces
their petals will open
and something beautiful will appear

or maybe just drop to the ground

but whatever happens
it’s me
and all this happens because I see the
beauty in the gray-no-color sky
with my eyes that see only how my eyes
can

perfectly

I think I will go inside now
my heart is warm now
I can stand the heat now
and I can stand the cold
but I would prefer to be warm now
I can rest my eyes
and get ready for another day
my New Life


.