Tears are bound to fall in the winter time.
When thoughts becomes frosted over, frozen,
outside of the primordial locus
of fleeting, flashing feelings.

Dew drop diamonds on cheeks,
Become icicles,
That stick out like vampire teeth.
Painfully piercing through the gums.
Early morning cigarettes leave a permeating sting.

Icy thoughts of weakness,
How we won’t make it through
this frozen tundra,
winter,
with its thrashing and bludgeoning.

Yet,
Hopeful for spring,
That icicles will crack their caterpillar  cocoons,
And our tears will ride bicycles
on sunny days,
and board wayward trains
to far away destinations.

But For now it is December….
Fading into a soon forgotten January.

San Fransisco, I’d been here plenty before, but the embers of the city that glowed faintly in mind we’re made up of imagined scenarios I’d lit in my head, a bonfire glowing in the future I dreamed existed outside my parents house.

Now July has come, and I had long ago left the room of my parents house behind, and I  had spent the last year experiencing dreams in my waking life in a mountain town.

But in July, the bonfire of San Fransisco, that had become embers in my mind, roared right before my eyes and I walk the city streets, awake in a world of made up dreams, that keep me thinking I’m asleep, and waiting to awake, standing knee deep in my waders, in a river or stream in the mountain town I had to let go.

Living feels like  I’m constantly raging against the nothingness of existing,
like I’m living with all the bounds of humanity, that mean nothing,
to find a purpose to waking up, and breathing and being, other than slowly dying along the way.

And I spend all my energy trying to build a bridge between the duality of life and death, that constantly keeps me a raging builder and an awful architect.

Please no more sunlight.
Bring your thunder,
Make the sky quake with your wonder.
I am your earth to Pilage and plunder.