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Birth Star
Suddenly from across
the universe
an idea.
Giving birth to a
super nova of passion.
A solar flare of
fantasy.
But, as with all
offspring, it finds its own path.
And you are left with
nothing more than the incredible knowledge that one of those stars
is yours.
Letting Go of
Lightning
I remember creating
this reality.
I remember having some
responsibility for grasping the lightning rod with all its power
with all its fire
In what was my
smugness then, and is my wisdom now—I threw it away.
A Late Night Fashion Statement
This is hardly the time for matching wits. It's 5 a.m. and I can
barely match my socks.
Let's leave it for when we can approach it one sock at a
time.
What to Expect
The spaceship Galileo
found Jupiter different than what we expected.
What did we expect?
What did we find?
What drives us to
understand the farthest reaches of the galaxy and ignore the
universe within?
Keep the faith NASA.
Keep the faith human
kind.
Electrical Storms
The broad, somewhat
overbearing mountain interrupts the clouds as they travel
across the sky.
I envy them their
journey.
Sweeping past busy
cities and abandoned towns.
Rolling over rivers
and mountain ranges.
Floating above all of
humanity and yet touching no one.
I envy them their
journey.
And their ability to
dissolve as quickly as they form
Mostly I envy their
fierce shows of emotion on hot summer nights.
I myself lack this
skill.
Dance ‘til You Drop
We danced the circle
dance until our muscles ached from the strain.
Until our souls could
no longer stop the spin.
Until the blur before
us became a colorful rainbow in motion.
We danced until the
sky fell and blanketed us in darkness.
Remembering
It seems a lifetime
ago.
You were a son
A brother
A young man
A soldier
A memory
The Sun
The sun slid through
the vertical blinds, pushing them aside slightly to make its
entrance.
It stretched through
the living room and scattered across the opposite wall.
Highlighting the dust
that needed dusting.
The dishes that needed
moving to the kitchen.
The books that needed
reading.
Throughout the day it
moved across the room pointing out my failings with a just barely
perceptible attitude.
It was time for
change.
I worked tirelessly
until almost the next morning, hanging heavy curtains—thick enough
to block any pushy beams.
Recipe for Success
An ounce of courage.
A touch of madness.
And the belief that
what you
have to offer—is edible
A Small Part
I keep a small
part of you in me.
Sometimes it bursts into my
mind unexpectedly and derails my thoughts.
I answer your
letters over and over again, never posting them.
They carry my
passion.
They are the proof
I have of you.
The Dinner Party
The Apostles are
preparing the last supper.
Jesus makes them wash
their hands before they eat, because it is the food that is sacred,
not they.
Judas sneaks out for a
smoke and thirty pieces of silver.
Jesus looks up and
down the table with a half smile as he delivers the punch line of
his slightly off color joke.
Everyone laughs, even
though they know how it ends.
Unity
For the time being
humans dominate some, nature the rest.
Anger rages in both.
The universe hungers
to gobble up another galaxy; perhaps ours.
Black holes are in
space, but encroach the minds of many.
Gold is power.
Some believe their God
to be antidote.
12 steps are difficult for one with no legs.
10 commandments for
one with no soul.
Death is a date we
refuse to write in our Daytimers.
Subway Saint
What was once so
strange, so far from the truth, becomes ordinary.
For you, a godlike
look, and the nearness of the sun.
For him, disaster and
the remoteness of you.
Stellar performance on
a noiseless subway.
A voice in the night,
whispering, crackling through the walls.
"Belmont, change here
for the Howard."
So you do.
Vanilla Ice Cream
A small, quiet voice inside wonders if this is how life is meant
to be.
It's shouted down by a
chorus with indisputable reasons for celebration and joy.
Their words seep
through the open sores in my sanity.
I try to join. “To life,” I shout.
Then I empty the
groceries from my knapsack and find that the vanilla ice cream has
melted all over the bottom.
It's dangerous to
celebrate too soon, and tragic to hear the quiet voice too late.
Out of the Mouths
There was nothing to
say but I spoke anyway.
It’s a nervous habit
that causes more problems than it solves.
I try not to, but then
along comes this silence and I panic.
The words continue to
fly out of my mouth and I put every effort into looking as if I know
what I’m talking about.
Of course I don’t.
But in my fantasy, I
walk away to sound of voices whispering, “I wish I’d said that”.
So do I. So do I.
At the End
All moisture
transformed, and now only fluid thoughts and a sense of what wetness
was.
I've often thought of
this and remembered tears.
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Upon Reflection
You looked into the
mirror and didn’t like what you saw.
It was always that
way.
Your eyes could never
find the person others told you was there.
You knew the mirror
wasn't your enemy but you shattered it anyway.
As it, for so long,
had done to you.
Dissolving
Integrity
A nuclear reaction.
The sense of critical
mass; impending melt down.
Things move faster
than the original plan, fusing into one molten bad idea.
We missed the warning
lights and sirens, or chose to ignore them, and now the
contamination readings are off the meters.
The core that
struggled to maintain it's integrity, begins to dissolve.
Even the most loyal
choose to evacuate, shaking their heads beneath silent white hoods.
The universe shudders
at the waste.
Speaking in Tongues
The wind is howling
outside my window.
It restates the
obvious and I lay here feigning
interest, trying to recognize the accompanying melody.
Safe Harbor
I recognize the opaque
wall.
I crawl into its open
arms; into the seductive look of safe harbor.
I need its embrace so
badly I am hardly aware of the stench of a thousand belly up
thoughts floating around me.
Choice
A mother, filled with
fear, sucks her children back into her womb.
"You will be safe
here," she whispers, and pats her swollen stomach.
She nods to her God.
She nods to her
children.
She nods to herself at
the rightness of her choice.
The Ups and Downs
We look down in order
to believe we've climbed.
We climb because
staying in one place is against our nature.
We fall because we've bothered to climb.
Sometime during the
fall we realize there is no up, no down, and we laugh, as gods often do.
Finishing a Thought
A shell to her ear.
A finger to her lips.
A million cells in her
brain begin to move like migrant workers through a cotton field.
The yield is great.
The work is hard.
The thought is
complete
Grocery Shopping
In the checkout line
at the grocery store I try to pay attention so I won’t lose my
place.
I bring the wrong
groceries to the counter and the checker gives me a
smug look—a sigh.
It follows me out to
the parking lot.
To my car.
To my apartment.
It stays until all of
my groceries are gone.
If they think I’m
going back to the store, they’re crazier than I am.
Who’s In Charge
Here?
The savior walks among
us in an unrecognizable form.
Speaking in an
unrecognizable voice.
Those who do
recognize—follow.
Some follow who are
lost.
Some follow who believe themselves worthy.
Some follow simply for
the prophet to be made.
A Very Old Tree
Roots pushing up
through the ground like a parched and bony hand.
A woman is screaming,
“You bitch, you whore.”
I don’t think it's
meant for me, but I'm glad to be here for her to vent.
I offer her no other
help.
I can’t.
I have less spirit
than she.
I survive quietly.
No loud cursing at
strangers for me.
And I will live this
safe existence until my hands look like the roots of a very old
tree.
The Moment
There's a path for
each of us.
A way to.
A way from.
It's the moment after
this one that defines what this moment has been.
It's the child after
you.
Upstream
The crisp full moon is
bright enough to border on offensive.
It's affecting the
tides.
There's some ancient
sense of a sexual celebration.
An appointment to be
kept somewhere upstream.
Like our predecessors,
we swim frantically to make this liaison.
Like them, we find the
satisfaction fleeting.
Silent Promise
You stepped bravely
into the dark night.
Knowing the effect it
had on you, I asked the blackened sky to do you no harm.
You left that night
with a smile and a half-hearted promise of a future.
I have grown older
waiting.
Storing up wisdom and
anger for your return.
Just barely keeping a
silent promise to survive.
Tasting the
Darkness
Pushing at the walls
of darkness.
Struggling to keep
them at bay.
Blackness oozes
through her fingers.
She licks it, expecting
to find it bitter.
Instead it's sweet,
and she's instantly free.
Still no Answer
I’ve left a dozen
messages for the supreme being.
I’ve written hundreds
of times—and nada.
How can you expect
people to keep worshipping you if you ignore them.
I'm a little uncertain
of the whole God thing.
Which is probably not
a big deal since you gave up on the whole man thing years ago.
Everyone Knows
To think beyond all that you have learned.
To see beyond all that
is before you.
To hear the music that
brushes your consciousness, but never lands.
These things are done
not in the darkest night.
Nor in the brightest
day.
But in that moment at
which the two meet for only a breath. When neither is night gone nor day yet born.
Then everything is
known and everyone knows.
Falling
First slowly, as if the reality has not fully sunk in.
You drop your leaves
like sparse tears.
Soon your sobs echo
through the canyon and your tears fall unchecked to the now golden
ground beneath your limbs.
In your nakedness you
look fragile and hardly able to withstand the coming winter winds.
But that's an
illusion—like life itself.
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