Friday, September 12, 2014

in the grand scheme of things

with a touch of lightness to flame, 
imagine if you would, fire floating away 
along the crackle of asphalt rain
along the time it took to turn 
a hoodie the right way on
with a sketchy understanding of rules
the mask isn’t for the face
look down, stay dry, keep cool, watch out
let soft light glow shadow
the ambient person look
soon will be time to tear it off
to mop the mess real people make
with a touch of darkness to flame
wounds and cinders, cuts and burns
along the course of a chilling rain
life is a creature to be loved
a string of small joys held together
by the course of a day

Tuesday, September 09, 2014

snake eyes

it rarely flaps a wing under mortal eyes, the little bird with its bald truths and heavy snakeskin it wriggle-hops under, for fear of unveiling a rigid moral courage, completely inappropriate for display to a flexihonest selfserving time warp, usually called the real world.

not that there's perfection under lifeless scaly diamonds, cmon, this is a working biomachine we talk of, as pedestrian as it gets. no, its more the unhappiness of excellent vision, closed forcibly to a pretend fog.

it speaks for a certain necessity for camouflage, if all the biomachines in the pretend fog are not to notice, a pair of clear eyes, wide open and horrified.

but wings are granted, to be taken out to the yard and flown, exercised like other limbs, shot at the sun and swooped from great heights, wings are granted to transpond away from pretend fogs, no longer be encumbered by the echoes of repetitive mortal speech, reinforcing each minute of each day, the few needs of the base machine

there must be a bi-pedal somewhere in the mists of maturity, between faux-leather, and wings, able to stand upright in the fog, and navigate unstiffly through heavy illusion, the bird grows tired as it waits, time has proved unsatisfactory in this particular evolution

the skin gets heavier, scales stick to the wings inside, nature regresses as the bird and snake try to wriggle-hop as one.

Sunday, September 07, 2014

letting go

tip tiptoe on the folding ledge
sound would be sacrilege
on this picture painting
moonlit night
let summer shed its wingskin
hum the song of belonging
to every pore and fissure
of this beautiful planet
resist hammering epitaphs
along each tempting milestone
let season take its centuries
to heal, this bright night
was made for moments
taken together, one more time
before they are taken apart
on buried bones

Thursday, September 04, 2014

the blur of plates

poetry in motion
for the soulfully inclined
ask focus, not design
nor safety nets, nets
are for entrapment, meant
to retire small peaces
that may yet be meaning,
have been will be,
beautiful constructs
free for the free,
invisible to falling plates,
a sky cradle for plates that levitate
by growing gravity, plate by plate

Sunday, August 31, 2014

goal setting, dreamwork, and other paradoxes

I want to finish all things that need finishing. Stop new things from flooding in. I want to be worthy of a toddlers worship. To not curse when I trip over his stuff, just as he doesnt when tripping over mine. I want to be accepting, helpless and surrendery, without any expectation. I want to be strong and capable and forceful. I want to not want to.

I want to walk in and walk out of rooms unchanged. I want to pad around dry in a wetsuit. I want to accept the many imperfections of my size, age, personality. I want whats good for me and whats good for the world, to be the same thing. I want to stop worrying about rivers and mountains of garbage engulfing the world.

I want to have a nice cozy fever with tea and a good book. I want to sweep all my worries into the big closet outside, and let spiders feed on them. I want a rulebook on what I should get done in the next 5 years. I dont want a rulebook on ditto. I want to organize all my pictures and memories in chronological order. I want to prove beyond all doubt that I exist. I want to also eat the bottom half of a sesame bagel.

I want to get better at being a soul on a mission. I want to let my animal be in charge sometimes. To switch off the torch, toss the map with the escape route, and just feel my way around. I want to buy a bookshelf, and fill it with all the books ive already read. I want to do the right thing, the right way, at the right time, instead of clumping around noisily where angels fear to tread.