I Will Write What I Write How I Write It
no syllables forming
Scratching, dead and
does not move making the illusion
of life pass away.
We travel into the spotlight sunset
raving and looning
extravagant claims on the never arriving future.
The next word is my future.
the next blink of a thought.
I am in the future passing into a mist,
already dead one hundred years.
So why do I fear every move?
Each breath a life, each life on fire
with every exhale.
scorching the earth with my remnant air.
here is that tiny doorstep of breath before the yet to be opened door
I can open or wait for the other side to bloom into me
take me in the cradling petals that evaporate into soft air.
After so many years,
You gave me back my Heart,
and I have no place to keep it.
What can I do with it?
Like hands when public speaking,
how do I perform my daily tasks
with a nervous heart hanging around
awkwardly with no purpose.
I can’t ask just anyone to help me hold it,
when I am shifting my load or opening a heavy door.
I must set it down, and when I do,
it ends up getting cold and bruised.
Some day soon, I will set it in the wrong place,
and someone not paying attention
will crush it as they pass with an innocent foot.
“What the hell,” that careless person will say.
“It’s not your fault,” I will say wiping
the foot with something handy laying about.
“I just can’t hold it all of the time. Sorry, about the mess.”
I hope whoever it is will understand.
Maybe before that happens I will find a warm
nest for my Heart to rest in.
My breath will come a little easier then.
Maybe I will build one.
I wonder if I could look that up
On Wikipedia or find one for not too much on Amazon.
Greetings from Inside
Hello Out There,
All of you, who are not in here with me,
I miss you so much.
I look forward to the time
When I am opened up
Like ripe fruit or
A flower spreading.
My pedals are still curled inward.
Someday soon folded wings will unfurl
Making space for you.
We must be patient with ourselves,
Forcing moments like these only
Ends up in regret for
Damage to delicate structures.
We are strong in moving slowly.
I am readying even now
When I look so closed.
Little adjustments Like waves
will move out to shatter the shell
Scattering crisp pedals like snow
And I will finally be able to
Personal Event Horizon
I came here to tell you
that I have no comments prepared
on the new direction my case has taken
at the present moment.
I stand mute
With my empty dialogue bubble
And stare vacuously into inchoate
mass of unrelenting ambiguous static
That are my thoughts at this time.
I have reached a level of blankness that leaves me
Unable to react or respond to events that are
Even now unfolding in my vicinity.
I am here merely to observe and
Patiently await the next occurrence.
My eyes are open, my ears hear.
I smell, taste, and feel
Whatever comes into the field of my senses is recorded.
I, however, cannot provide feedback, guidance or context
For the mess of swirling color, sound,
somatosensory and kinesthetic input
That assaults my being.
like a black hole, I absorb all stimuli
That stray into the range of my senses, storing
Vast masses of information
reflected into me from an undisclosed location
condensing and pressurizing
all into a density, so compacted,
that it can no longer hold its form
releasing a universe
Of mind into the infinite
vacuum of my life.
Stay tuned for further developments.
I am an archive of treasure.
My memories and experience overflow
into my present,
spilling gems and coins
clattering and sparkling about.
When will I realize every life has worth,
even in failure and remorse,
even in dire tragedy.
Even as rough faces fade with time,
every shadow shapes the light into a form
which can be deciphered and known.
Love Casts Out All Evil
“Love casts out all evil,” She said.
She is casting out her evil
with beauty and gentle faith
transforming into light by the river.
She lost her daughters
to her addictions, but
was able to hold onto
a tail of light
as it dangled
in the well.
three years she climbed
to reach this new world
where she cleans under
the bridge and talks to angels
while the current, still far
away, rolls on.
She rises with a smile
to face the new love of each day.
Seeing all these familiar faces
as if I had been away at the north pole
or they were locked up and are still trapped
in their job prisons and I visiting.
I feel like I am visiting my life when I talk about
what I have been doing.
It is separate from me,
scenes from someone else’s imaginary, never to be finished movie
which changes with each retake.
I have to remind myself that I have lost teeth and weight.
I look older even though I feel better some days
than when I was much younger.
Some days I have to make myself push through the fog.
too often I move, a habitual ghost, leaving no footprints
in the fresh snow.