I wasn't lying when I said you took my breath away.

It was beautiful till I turned blue,

but guess what! (i'll tell you)

I found it today.

It wasn't hiding, it had just gotten smaller.

It shied away from my hand when I reached for it

in the haste held by a man who realizes

he's dying every day.

Like the last tree in a mechanical day dream

it coughed at the presence of the past.

You, the very one who shooed it away from my form,

you whos heart beat was too loud to lift up

anything but my ecstasy,

told me to be patient.

You helped me find my breath again.

when i sat next to you
your smell gently fingered my nose
with nauseating familiarity

You were wearing the same shirt
that you were wearing
the last time we shared words
and a sitting space

You didn't notice me at first
you were in your textbook
navigating numbers beyond my comprehension
you were in your music box
the one i paid for
only because i lost the other one in the first place

I admired you as you wrote down
what was correct
I was smiling
with a nauseating familiarity

You saw me
and the smile flew away
as did the past i wish i was in

we talked for a while
and that was it
and we went home
and we went to sleep

we were i
and we were you
but we're not anymore

Some days she is far above me
cumulus, billowing
complimenting the sky
as she drifts and changes
slowly
Shine one moment
Shadows next

Some days she can't be seen
or is distant and alone on the horizon
she shies from the Sun
but at night we watch the stars together

Some days
after the rains
when all the quiet things come out
and patter the forest floor with
hushed steps
when I am outside listening
and my head is like an empty bowl
she curls from me
rising, slipping out over the valley
embracing the hills
and running her fingers thru the trees
like so much tall grass
laughing

I breathe and she is my breath
filling my hallow
she is all I see

In a slow motion haze I look out over the grey Philadelphia in a fog bank. The tops of the buildings obscured. Floor after floor continuing into space for all I know. Sitting here watching the faint movement of the odd tree, leafless in December. Opening to a world with which I am yet familiar, the window. Outside cars in a constant stream. Always the places-to-be calling louder than any horn or crash of impact, louder than any amount of glass shatter. People on the freeway, on the city streets, and in between in the alleys and narrowed roads going (they say) no where. Somehow we all find time to extract some value from this moment. Some sort of consolation for being. As if love weren’t enough that we had to go around printing in on paper and digging it out of the ground in gleaming golden handfuls. Then again, perhaps it’s not. Or perhaps there’s some sort of figuring out we’ve left to do. Some more Earth to be moved aside to find the treasures there. Dig deep enough and it’s all molten. All a liquid swishing heat. Why do we put such pressure on ourselves? From where comes this burning desire to have in our hands and to know without a doubt what it is we are made of? Have we not seen that death is inevitable? Still the reaching continues, down and out into the dregs. Soon we’ll find it. Soon. The gem must be there beneath this last scrap of **** and ripped bits of newspaper. Beneath these stones overgrown in moss. Still further beneath the metals collecting and pooling in toxic natural vats of too much nutrient. Into the solid iron core of the Earth under pressure. There we’ll find another absence. Another outer space waiting for the claiming. Yet in all our grasping we will never hold a fistful of love. True love, true happiness. Serotonin wash water over the coils is never enough to cool the white flame of need. Even if artificial and limping on the last prosthetic legs made from the long dead detritus plastics, the flame rages. It will not be sated by the material and forever the eating will continue. Finding silence in the storm is the true gem. The hollow in your heart is what beats your blood thru your body, what walks your legs and chews your food. To find respect for a lack of satisfaction is what will save us if ever we need it. Sated with hunger, patient with pain. "What is to give light must endure burning."

all of us
details in sequence
no particular part of a pattern
liquid
given in
to each syrup-sticky motion
emotion making a reach
hand no longer fist
and fallen into dust

Many wake
with the sun well risen.

Some
find themselves
awake in the dark
turning over into sleep
until the light.

Still others,
night cast from their eyes,
go outside
into the black
to wait
and watch the colors come.

The sun on the horizon
is a shadow,
bent forward in time
by the eye lens atmosphere,
the light of it
sent to greet
the waiting awake,
heralding another
new living.

The smoke before the fire,
comforting the cold.

the shadows so long
they're gone

the shadows so long
distant fire, extinguished
line of missing stars

no moon tonight

the shadows so long
they're gone

summer windows opened
autumn windows closed

alright,
so one day you wake up in the middle of the night,
not for a sound or a light,
but the fright of "not right".

You move your awake to the living room
and hold on to it tight.

With eyes withered wide
you see without sight
in the sun-tipped hours
of empty delight.

"It's not right" says you
to the you you're speaking to
and you're convinced through and through
that the voice is not new.

The sun coming up,
the filling of cups,
tells withered eyes,
to look to the skies,
and in the demise,
on the night's last light,
the day is crowned queen,
by the sun and your sight,
and you sigh away why,
and the fright of "not right"
in the day that you woke in the middle of the night.

No job today. Sitting alone in the living room I sip a beer bought with my dwindling supply of cash. I guess I’m not trying hard enough. Rain comes down in wispping sheets outside. The peaks of the tallest buildings downtown are cloaked in grey. There’s a crawling sense of urgency deep within me but it stirs little. It’s overlaid with a knowing of my self that secures me, a certainty that none of this time is being wasted. I've always known who I am in an other than obvious sort of way. I was born and continue to be a watcher, a passive observer of the drifting seconds. As the rain falls in a steady stream of droplets my beer glass is slowly emptied. Thoughts, like the seconds, float by, like flies landing and then buzzing off to a more succulent  morsel. I like it this way. Unattached, solitary. It’s a freedom no hero can grant you. It’s a way of looking at the world like the weather. Rain today, not tomorrow. Sun tomorrow, the next day may be snow. Although I do get hungry from time to time (for relationships and food). Sitting and waiting for my baby girl to fly out to meet me in Philly. How I miss her skin! Maybe a job wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. It would pass the time at least and give me another vantage point from which to conduct my observations of this fading world. Maybe pay for my sweet potatoes. I finish my beer and step into the grey.

your kiss
is so distant
and try as i might
the mouth of this bottle
will not do

no matter how harsh my shush
my eyes still shout
"look at us!"
to passersby

no matter how loud my love
my lips still open
without sound
when I'm alone

no matter how strong my self
my teeth still clench
when I think
myself crazy

no matter how deep my death
my ears still hear
your last jest
in the dark

don't cry
no matter how evil I am

Act as you will,
the Buddha doesn't mind.

Entropy is Ecstasy
a state of selflessness
in which
homogeneity is once more realized.

Osho said, "When the shoe fits, the foot is forgotten"

I don't see what's wrong with my
addictive personality.
the only thing in life that's
restrictive is morality.
we tally these
burning trees
and build the lees
for holding seas,
pretend the knees
inside of me
aren't shaking at the sight.

the alchemy
of how we be
is clear without a light.

a peaceful forest
the birds, the moss,
the glisten of river thru it
the soft foot fall of hunt
animal hunger
plant lust

all is peaceful
and even here is pain

pain is so a part of everything
as peace is
and sure as day and night
a biting life will strike
to bring us sleep and waking moments
lest we forget

At first it was white
and that made us happy
the manic unknown

ah, the first few strokes!
fresh life! lush rain!
becoming the wildflower fields
and drawing long, deep breaths
with lungs like the sea

It was YOUR eyes that were the wind
whipping the waves
licking the stone
still white
still manic
and the blue that is your eyes is on fire

like two moons
your gaze lifted the ocean from its repose
and as it bent again
an army of shadows made itself
of the night

and then it was Black
and we were no longer
and there was no movement cast to shore
nor was there still
it was a great yawning
and we slept in the space between
dreamless

now

ahhhh
now

now we wait

naked laughter is the best thing i've ever seen
and the sky
ripe with lights
from my dreams
seems
to team
even when empty

Left to their repose
the grass blades seek shelter
under the sun
it is without effort
that they themselves
are free

Let It Be

11:11
i made a wish.
did you?
did you remember not tell?
that's what they say
"don't let that wish slip,"
but the truth is,
you can't cook wishes
into reality
by keeping them quite

whisper over your shoulder
whisper through the wires
whisper til your eyes leak
that's what your chest requires

I still make a wish
whenever four ones present themselves
on a wrist watch or a clock
and i still cook them in quite
only lifting the lid
for a moment or four
to sneak a spy of silence

11:27
33 minutes until
October!
my favorite season
when i was younger
because of my birthday
nesting in the familiar warm auburn glow.
now burning.
it's the start of a circle
a circle beginning in death
and taking a breath
before descending again
i will stay awake until October!
until i can feel that glow
until i know
that someone heard my wish
the one i whispered
as you walked away
the one i whispered
as i tried to convince myself that
this flame in front of me
is as fantastic to see
as your eyes

whisper over your shoulder
whisper through the wires
whisper til your eyes leak
that's what your chest requires

look at me
rambling on again.
waiting on an October wish

Given to dharmas, my ignorance. (?)
Given to paths crossing, to others leaving one
far cast from the shore, my trust. (?)

No current floats alone in the ocean.

Drop by drop be led,
thanking all the way
each unseen life and silver fish guardian,
towards the veracious
colored ring
forever in the distance,
deep and
deep.

Given to the kalpas, my passion. (!)
Truculent waves of time behemoth
rising from the depths
ripple the surface
and show those that thought you long forgotten
the beauty, in the shallows,
of the sunset broken,
dancing. (!)

Death saw my progress and smiled.
I try not to shape the darkness behind my eyes, but sometimes those pearly whites
Like tombstones shine under moonlight.

I remember the young dog on the road.
He wasn’t strong enough to support our convenience
And his weakness leaked from his mouth and nose
Adding a savory flare to the grey gravel road.
He was burried under an apple tree
And my tears were taken aback
When I looked up to see
Death
Smiling in an apple blossom.

Walking tops of mountains seems simple

when all rests in relativity

The realization that

SPACE

is only the relationship between

FORM.



no shadows without sun.

stars shine the same sting.

Ink without paper.



.and therein lies the answer.



Your heart is beating.

Your heart is not beating.



On top of the mountain the yogis slur is trance Sanskrit.

Like oceans they reside

sunken in temples

the waves of their drone pulsating.

the incense is strong

and still it is floating away.



Their words for today and tomorrow are the same.



Hands touching hands now,

do you feel that?

Something MORE!

overlapping

folding over and then

BLOSSOM

color and light leap from shadows!



Your heart is beating.



Now the pulling apart.

Silence.

Cold.

Illusion.

An enigma froze in a shocking static.



Your heart is not beating.



Brahma!

Vishnu!

Shiva!



There is only one.

Magic is the unseen.
Magic is Schrodinger's cat.
(or us from the point of view of the cat.)
Magic is the tree in the forest
felled out of earshot.
Magic is the face that everyone makes
when you're not looking.
Magic is peripheral evolution;
the way water boils faster
under the patience of a turned back.
Magic is where the colors go when the sun goes down.
If science is observation,
and art is application,
than magic is both neither and both,
and neither both nor neither.
Magic is the "I don't know."
when someone asks who you are
and all you can think of is your name.
In this way, magic is in everything,
and in some way
we are pieces of everything.
Don't remember to forget,
and next time someone inquires to your identity,
know that any answer you can give is correct
because you can give it.

Or not.

Under:Standing
is
Over:Sitting

To wait at gates with no expectation of an opening

To be on the other side
and to ride
to be alive

You have no need

never contented
a library of coupon clippings and browser tabs
oh, scrolling esoteric rolodex
just because I like some numbers
more than others
doesn't mean I want to be
one
one
one

daily passing thru a filter
for vibes instead of size
sorted with the others of your kind
and each of us categorically  
empty

outside of anywhere
might be a mirror
but it's still clearer
than the receiver static

send me that message
your ellipsis tickles me
magenta

What faults have the sword?
What weakness the bowl?
What strengths have their union?
What power the whole?

An Old Master once said,
"Those who know do not speak,
those who speak do not know."
but in creating the duality of
speaking and not speaking
He has ignored the Silence the unites them.

In both speaking and not speaking
resides silence,
from which they both spring.
To be silent is to listen,
but speaking does not negate other sounds.
To be at peace with the silence in
and without yourself
is to understand.

This is the Tao we call wisdom.

But, by defining knowing and not knowing,
one may never understand.

The Old Master was right in that
those who speak cloud the moon
with their pointing fingers,
but failed to recognize that
beyond the clouds,
the moon is still shining.

The light that illuminates the moon
is the same that is cast upon the finger.

Within this light sits darkness in meditation.
Under ones words sigh silence.

This is the Tao we call Void.

Through this Void, the ten-thousand are about themselves,
Stark within their inconsistencies.
I found peace in the ten-thousand things
because it wasn't there.
I found peace in the ten-thousand things
because it wasn't there.
I found anger in the ten-thousand things
because it wasn't there.
I found sorrow in the ten-thousand things
because it wasn't there.
I found joy in the ten-thousand things
because it wasn't there.

This is the Tao we call emotion.

Here kid, look at this
We took all of those star yonder
And put um right in this little thingymajiger
Quite a sight, ain't it
A'course, we couldn't put the stars back

Oh well

We can whip out some more
Just ask whobewhatie
He's got all the fixin's for stars
A'course
They won't be as bright as before
And there's no guarantee on how long they'll burn
But, well, gee
Just look at that there thingymajiger in your hand and tell me that's not worth allthemoneyinyourpocketsandthensome!

What'd'ya mean y'ain't got no money?
Ah, never mind
Have a good life kid
Sorry about the stars............

Open up your mouth.
let it out with a shout.
so we know what it's about.
so that we won't have a doubt.
that you've found your rout.
tell yourself that it's necessary
so that you can
sprout.


open your mouth.
let it all out
so we won't have a doubt
what you're about.

maybe your doubts
wouldn't be so loud,
if your mouth
wasn't so proud.

The sounds that come
from
us.
They dance beside your water-bed.
Laughing at the walls.
Rolling down the sheets.
Seizing in ecstasy.
Rippling and waving
everything away.
besides,
the sounds that come
from
us.

at times i feel
that a second stanza
ruins the first

at times
i just can't help myself

Laid down
floating over last year recipes
same town
knowing that the rest is what's next to me
and i'm blessed to see it

Outside surroundings
bring it in
bring it in
we all want to be
a bigger piece
a bigger piece

Eye brows lids and lashes
shadow swift synapse crashes
fierce fires flicker in eyes
while the coy of their disguise
made all the others daft
and the dark inside them laughed

The bright blue of their sashes
beckons burning bulb flashes
they still wear when alone
the rough edges of stone
but the coy of their disguise
and fires flickering in eyes
made all the others daft
and the dark inside them laughed

My poetry
is best used at work
as notes of praise and encouragement
in co-workers birthday cards.

If, in reading my words,
their step is made lighter,
I am successful beyond kings.

I would write blessings to all the world
if the lightened step of men
would save it
but
at the end of days
I do not truly know
what a poet is.