Sunday, October 19, 2014


low underground sounds
ring doppler among her pleas,
to not leave
her in a distorted world
and I cannot explain
why the walker should be held
the right way around
why she must not wander
why i must not let her do
what I cannot understand
I just hope, when its my turn
and it will be soon
my humans or pets
will let me wander away
to my own magic land
and not return, without remorse
or high drama

Monday, October 13, 2014

the edifice

I must so many things. I should have these others. I may not a lot. I cannot a mountain. I will a few

Even with a firm hand on perfection, as the enemy of doing, of moving, this edifice is full of holes, drafty and weak. If only I could somehow switch metaphors to a forgiving natural construct, a river, a tree, a beehive

And then would be the worship of constant change, motion or activity, as evidence of evolution over time. Comforting, well documented, provided for by the sun and religion

But the truth is I don’t know. I don’t know if this edifice that doesn’t exist outside my metaphoric realm, exists. I don’t know if its worth it, i don’t know if its magnificent, i don’t know if I should make it, I don’t know if I already made it, and I’m done, and now, I’m just wasting oxygen on futility

But I do know this is my happiness machine, and it must be watered, it knows the waypath my blood must take to spin into the correct whirlpool, it knows all the places in my mind where pain builds storefronts, it knows how to transform my fear into a tremulous honesty, the difference between coincidence and fate, convenience and courage, ordinary and the opportunity for not-so, to be seized or dissolved

It knows itself, in the manner of all sentient beings

Friday, October 10, 2014

to catch a feather

in a trail of black smoke
in a spire of dissolving time
with the distance, make a rope
blurring but so very clear
in a few heartbeats, trail will be sky
feather disappear, but it will still fly
and all the sounds of distress I hear
will be mine, if I cannot
open my hand and close my eyes

Saturday, October 04, 2014

the pearl machine

In the evening of today, defined by light in the socket, and diffusion in the clouds, in the gloom of a moving summer, I struck a bargain with pieces of my soul, for light, for cold wind, clouds and music, for leaving footprints without footprints, for being a benign ghost gliding along on wide open spaces 

And it was worth it, to feel freedom like wind, and watch the moon rise, with missing pieces, but you know, its a full circle, all the puzzle pieces are already glued together, its all about believing in the partial picture, with or without several thousand moonrises to count on

And the joys of being meaningless creep back in one sliver at a time, sharp and melting as they reach, but what a journey, firmly attached to the backdrop, detached from comment on a whole world of brick red in-progress-es, faces seeking reply faces, movements demanding maps, maps asking crayons

Someday when the forces are comfortably outside the magic moat, under construction of course, someday when its easier to touch a belief, and see a change color into kaleidoscope without visible human intervention, and mine is one of the souls on the road-that-never-was, I hope there is a permeating sunrise crammed with all that missing meaning, and I hope someone is out there, after striking a bargain with their soul, to see it, to believe it

Thursday, October 02, 2014


I often dont understand what my mind is swirling around but I stare at it anyway, hoping some kind of order will emerge after out of focus starts, looking like meditation or dream. wit has failed me today, all the secrets and sorrow and flavors in my blood gave way to a sort of cool disdain for all things me

its not a crisis of faith, I do believe I am extraordinary, what I cannot believe is how ordinary I am, without any attempt at paradox, so in fact im merely extra, which works nicely on the tough stains and charred bits, if not the verdict of a life well lived, which is lovely, but so frighteningly airbrushed

and I dream again of the glass green house where all the green is outside, and it rains, and shines, and falls, then snows, and I can watch, ensconsced in glass, without having to touch it, or do anything else, but watch until my body gives, which is the same as now, except glass doesn't fill my senses, and I keep waking up