So, here is the world
that thing of atoms and magic
and then I, having just woken
see it like in a womb
and lately I’ve not been
wanting to wake
despite the nightmare in my dreams but
here I am
an aching back and gooey eyes
yawning and stretching and rolling over
trying to wrap sleep around me once more
trying to pass the day into a day into a day
into a second in an hour of
but nothing will ever get done like that
and life will pass strolling by laughing
stepping my sleeping toes into the gravel
that will all-too-soon be graves
you sit there watching
and I wish I didn’t put thoughts in your
instead I read your silence like a novel
and remind myself
that I will not react.
That time will tell but
can’t I be the one to tell my own time? True that
if it’s right then the fiction of it will disintegrate but if it’s right
for me then surely I should be the one to
distinguish my own facts from the fiction in light of my subjectivity?
Sometimes I feel as if time will not tell until it says something you want to hear but what if time is telling all the time and it’s just not what you are ready to allow?
Game face ready to start the race and
Speak the part that speaks rather than the brittle raw art of the heart time to speak the speaks the speak the words that communicate the things that make movement
Time to move with it and see the commercial from the conscious that which connects and carved the expression of our faces that which is brutal and snappy not broken and crappy but on it like the edge of a pin on the skin of a floating balloon the creased eyes before impact the invisible boom time to speak that which speaks instead of only the gloom enough of the victim time to answer to instinct and enough is enough time to get to the tough and make our own steps and get with it
Time to realize that time is gone already while you were writing this. Time to put down the phone let go of that wish and make it alone because you certainly got this
Misunderstood because it borrows
humility from the hundred eyes broadcasting and everyone seems to learn
a little bit- more- than they would have if there was no distress
When anger floating without cause is the cause of self destruction just like steps without a foothold on the ground cannot cause disruption just like change
always had a way to push against the current just like current was electric meaning intensely powerful just like the words that make these paragraphs intently digital
Words that sink and the ones that swim
But how do we know the way?
How do we put ourselves in a place where we
Are completely still?
So that we might see without blur and in the way of the will?
How do I know this forward is of my own steps and if the river moves me then do I move with it or stop?
And if I stop then will I sink?
How do I know where the seabed is when I’m paddling so fast that sand is everywhere and the ground can’t find its place?
How will I learn how to see if I cannot find my face?
Feel tangled like spaghetti squashed
into a tin can tossed under a moving van
before being emptied onto a hot pan.
Ego from this egg and let its
shell crack to let the yellow love beneath
It spill because beneath the vulnerability is a still and it
is from where the happy fills
Hits the heart that’s
been still as a full stop
for the long drop
now tiptoeing to the tip top just like
Gumdrop skittles sushi biscuit fizzles
-floored, as in grounded resolution
and -scored, as in founded solution but
–found, as in was-missing and now -sound
in-breath: deeply, as in no inhibition
out-breath: to begin releasing
Flow: as in connect the dots
It is synchronicity where once there were just spots.
to create a shallow depth of field
to achieve bokeh, to learn about balance
ISO, aperture and shutter speed. Trap light, Trap
time, Trap moment. Trap a look. Trap a story
Trap a history.
and trap it right.
Like glitter-dust confetti, and watch
-watch, how they fall onto the ground in an explosion of ideas
a kerfuffle of meaning. Watch, watch
how its alphabetic matter disintegrates and separates like
form from dust or dust in wind. Or wind.
Like wind, it breaks, it cannot be caught, it cannot be still.
It fades beneath more words beneath time beneath travel and
experiences. It fades until there is nothing left but a memory, then
a memory of a memory and then -something- so distant and so brittle that
even the act of trying to grasp it will destroy it, will destroy it smithereens.
So be careless and careful all at once. Because words need to spill out of and over themselves to become something healthy. Something real.
Like the perseids shower shimmer above us now we are only fleeting,
so let words fly with motivation, until they find their meaning,
let them stretch unframed into this universe, adorned with a comet-chaos-consciousness
where they can breathe.
a day early
Google told me tricks about the slime on their surface
that was a tale of that tell and now
the bin is more full than the fridge
I slept with a nostalgic sadness over me
a blanket of old memories like a fragmented movie screen
replaying the tracks that tug at my gutt and make my heart thud heavier as
if anchoring it into all of what was once happiness, and only bringing back the bitter of
Of light and shadow and happiness, pain. Or love, and hate. These are but two sides of the same coin.
And these are all coin tricks, these distilled memories that collectively sieve through almost as the anti-remedy of healing
we are all coin magicians, sifting through our moments and organizing our memories in feelings
revealing only the good parts and the taken-for-granted moments. I wish. I wish. I wish. I could pause and select and keep forever the best parts of it.
Now again the water is over my head and the thuddud of this heart is sinking, and so I must keep swimming
swim past the memories into the present now;
it is time to make new memories.