a waking world

So, here is the world

that thing of atoms and magic

and then I, having just woken

see it like in a womb

of sleep

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

time passing

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

and you

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.


You keep saying

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?

Put on your

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

sarcasm is best

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

And there are words around everything

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?

When happy

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

It’s like

-floored, as in grounded resolution

and -scored, as in founded solution but

found, as in was-missing and now -sound

It is

in-breath: deeply, as in no inhibition

It is

out-breath: to begin releasing

It is

Flow: as in connect the dots

It is synchronicity where once there were just spots.

Throw words into the air

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.


The mushrooms are off

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

the sweet

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.