Sweet night comes
To bring us close, to
Find, ‘twixt legs, us:
They whose hands,
Like eyes, wander
If to be witness or
Perpetuator of loop.
If you feel the need to ask how two people sleeping together is reminiscent of a spiritual/physical salvation from day-in/day-out loss of personhood (in modern context: to a materialistic society and, thus, ourselves), you’re not sleeping with someone you love.
How old are you?
What do you want to do
When you grow older, becoming…
What is your favorite word?
Do you smile when you say it, or
When it’s spoken aloud?
Go ahead and tell me
Everything you hold inside,
Hoping one day to let it all go.
Go ahead and tell me
What you keep from yourself
When the lights go out
And you’re alone in the dark,
Giving in to madness to avoid sadness.
Go ahead and tell me
Who you really are,
Who you want to be
And who you cannot continue as.
When walking,
Onward,
Stepping
Lightly
Between the through-broken
Tufts of green,[ …]
We are patient.
When time,
Simple
Excesses,
Melts off the skin,[ …]
We are patient.
[When accepting
There is more,
Following
wind’ed words
Toward sanity, …]
When nature,
[You know,
The real world,]
Finds us,
Lends us a view
Of life, unrestrained,[ …]
We are patient.
When this world’s
Place in the spin
Pushes us
To be where we be,[ …]
We are patient.
When we
Follow
Our
Instincts,
Those
Bits of ourselves
We know not until needed,[ …]
We are patient.
Staring toward the sparkling worlds
Just beyond reach, slowly growing
Bored with this world, but I know
More exist, and can fade safely now.
The sweetness of being here is
Being buried, let churn in dance
Of dust and carrion there, the
Fuel of progress not hunted yet.
The slow play grinds closer toward a goal, but
after the bang is the resting echo, before the
second shot can be heard.
I want to write on a crowded page, a dark screen, somewhere no one will remember me.
I want to be with life and living, journeying from where I need to be by season and leaving behind all other reasons. We are nomadic, yes? We are meant to roam to find a nook or cranny from which our world can expand, yet be kept separate from the rest. Solitude? No. We want autonomy.
Why not be brief in stance, lengthening appreciation for time not taken
To spill one’s mind, split as muffin in the morning, earth-side’s turn to sun?
She walks to me
And all I see
Are her eyes,
The deepest mahogany.
This skin I’m in
Holds me more
Together than
A mind so shallow.
I wait to wade for tide
And avoid the future flow,
‘Cuz I’m livin’ in the ebb,
My toes buried ‘neath the sand,
Like life is so much better where
I can’t see the wash comin’ in;
I got 99 problems, more?–
Should I even account for the past,
Or make this about where I am today?–
I got 99 problems, more?, but
I got them blinders on, tellin’ me
The future’s all that’s worth seein’, see
We livin’ like now gets us there alone,
But, nah, you gotta look ahead ‘n’ know
You, me, we all get there eventually.
you tried to sell your soul
for
another dollar;
more
would have been too much.
and this world,
this
orb/
misshaped,
holding on to us
as though needed we are,
though we know
it will continue without us,
this world follows cycle
but observed and meant only
as a means of being, this world
gives us view of life
most extraordinary, in
hopes others exist as same,
despite likelihood of
diversity, much like
we witness
without knowing
we are already not alone.
how absolutely silly
to wonder if we are alone
when the world holds
our friends, our fellows,
and we treat them as resources.
how absurd to think
one would want to
play with the child
slamming its friends and toys
against the floor,
while screaming for
another.
