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gap
see the gaps in my toes
carry me along more than
the capacity of my embodiment can bear
what a gift is mortality
to realize even a nimble step depends
on the space outside of me
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more consolation
surrender heavy breath
to the future I’ll never hold
nor for the blessing and comfort
I already crave
Where does love bury it’s head?
and is that truly better than facing me?
are my hands so gross with ordinary
that love pities my will to ask?
surrender I come, and wander around
the blithe realm of self-consolation
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consolation
I’m not made for love
I’m made for wanting
what consolation in that I’m made at all?
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life is hard
life is hard
when i reach myself
out of the dimension
i’m here to be in
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to be is no question
et me be
self to self
why so determined?
not to be
not to this
to that or other
but only one way
that way is dumb
but promising
no
let me be
i just want to be
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an opportunity
You give me a new feeling.
I’ve sorta felt it since.
But it’s evasive and I don’t trust it.
A little speck of opportunity,
whispering at me that maybe my life did not die with him.
But to go down that road means letting that one die,
and I’m still not convinced that I can live apart from it.
I’ve already started to grow around
this crooked blade in my chest
so if i try to pull it out,
who will be there to patch the gaping mess?
Even if you can find super glue, or duct tape, or whatever means you can
that will hold me together,
how can anyone love more than one person in that way?
At most it’s loving each person half.
Which is a pathetic act of redundancy
betrayal!
that I cannot bring myself to.
But, you make me smile
and i am curious to know why.
you have this unassuming something
that tempts me into wondering
if there is someone out there,
you or otherwise,
who might just die for me,
and there is a small maybe,
that it would be worth
getting rid of the bread knife in my chest
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Blue, and maybe God
blue is such an evasive color,
like when water looks as blue as life,
and the sky is a depthless sheet
but when you cup some water,
or fly in a plane
it's not blue you can hold.
maybe too, God is this way.
sure, in the “he is always there”
“he is everywhere”
but I mean in the way of full experience
until our senses fail us.
so why do we not grumble about not holding the sky?
and trust that the water in our hands
is the same as from the lake?
I guess because the work of God
feels more threatening.
but maybe like God,
we will enjoy the blue of a lake more in stillness,
than trying to take some for ourselves.
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happy thoughts
happy thoughts, happy thoughts
all i have is happy thoughts.
happy thoughts of what i’d be if hate and love
and bitter and sweet would swap their place inside to out,
but that’s not how it works, I know.
it takes long to change and longer to grow
into a person who understands the reason to live. not to live,
but to live!
like the end of a 90’s flick, making the most of each day
a lie in itself, but nevertheless
to chase what’s sweet and toss the trash without regret.
the heafty satin baggage claiming to be happy thoughts
but so far from it hurts to laugh
not like joy but like running to death
or be killed otherwise,
to the edge of the earth,
where if we are lucky, we won’t have to do it again.
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eat, drink, and be mortal
to eat, they say
to drink, they say
to relish one’s labor
is the only source of joy
meaningless is the rest,
so the teacher says
from experience i would agree
but where does this leave me?
to eat is to die, i say
flesh is a burden
to drink is foolish, i say
rigidity is a comfort
work is futile for mortals
meaningless is still the rest
so where does my frantic soul find its joy?
i guess this is my peroration;
i will die in stubbornness
or learn to quite my says
to know i am the least bit special
is actually the greatest news i’ve heard
in nearly 8,000 days
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dirt dreams
I tip toe the line
having spent the savings of my heart
grasping for this delusion
the step off is in sight
yet suddenly,
I’m a child with feet sunk in snow
Is it truly a guise that I’ve sought so hard?
that’s been a knife cutting chunks off my heart?
a dream that’s been so real
pulling my teetered steps
for all these miles
is made of dirt
that stuffs my throat
and dries my lungs
and laughs as I stare
“are you serious?”
to which it chuckles
“you never asked!”
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fate is for the birds
branches cusp the foggy air
these trees pave the way
or is it the lack of trees
that determines my fate…
as if there is such a thing
but if there were
it’s not as if the trees
care about my driving habits
and if they don’t care about that
then they mustn’t care where I end up
(since habits shape character, you see)
so I conclude
that fate cannot be
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those tugs, that yern
soul tugs, pulls, yearns
for what?
i’m usually not aware
until after the fact
a glance over my shoulder
is enough to know
how tangled i left it
oh how the mind can learn facts
the body can form
but my soul returns like a blind dog
to that place of last meal
why can’t i know
there is a feast far greater waiting ahead
if i just put to rest
this dumb motive
those tugs, that yearn
-’n
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rotting
quite numb
like the hmm of a mute TV
every heart thump is stunted
if bungee chords hold it down
but that’s just how it is now
life has settled in my skin
according to gravity
like the rotting bottoms of fruit
wisped away by the air
through this skin become mesh
-’n
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children can do it
skip, hop, and a jump
a jump that ends it all
seems so easy
children can do it they say
i turn my back
expecting to find a different life
the one that fits
but it doesn’t work
it still doesn’t fit
like a perfect circle
ideal, impossible
so i tuck in my thumbs
and turn back around
that side is gone now
i’m stuck
between the real and the good
i guess i have no choice
but to take the jump
seems so easy
children can do it they say
-’n
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berries
these berries sting my lips
we picked and you showed me
how to find the sweetest blues
perhaps you know how i feel
and are just kind
or i hid well
but either way
i ask God if he wants to share
thinking that if he is involved
things will work out in my favor
but that’s not how it works
so i eat the last berry
and remember that
this rock in my gut
isn’t meant to stay
nor were you apparently
but i guess a lesson learned
is that my favor
doesn’t depend on you anyways
-’n
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watermelon heart
my heart no longer pumps
it spins like the earth
except mine is hollow
a heavy shake and I feel the singe
of where you burned a hole
and I’ve been dripping since
as long as the earth goes
so too will my heart circle
a steady infinite hollowness
waiting for the past to change
maybe like a watermelon
i will sound right to someone
but really what would that serve?
another means nothing, so too does the past
maybe this was my big bang
the beauty of space comes from it’s emptiness
just there
i guess i’m just here
and my spinning weightless heart
serves a purpose just the same
-’n
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question these sorrows
tick tock, bock chop
run goes the days
folded in half by the needs
the needs of the world, the one, the many
question these sorrows
is it a life half made
or far over expected?
oh question these sorrows
-’n
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