harmonics

you’re always on a couch;
i’m always crawling across the floor

trying to get to your life raft.
the air down here is desperater.

at the heart of every hoard
is fear.

i am holding my breaths,
my swallows, my skin cells,

my orgasms.
i am an old soul

pushing past a curtain of
wind chimes.

through the swinging pieces
of glass you are the

air singing to
my fire.

how does one person
uphold so many lives

without un-raveling;
without un-becoming?

the incandescent smirk is
a sacrament.

we sit together and watch the
paint dry: ossified in octaves.

Photograph: Casa Batllo; Barcelona, Spain; designed by Antoni Gaudi; 1904-1906

unusual beautiful

cast your wide net of static space

across the slow motion reach of sages;


listen for the songs that are waiting for you.

watch for the gates to swing wide open:


the melodies dipping just below the surface,

choosing to drown momentarily,


like floating in reverse.

the feeling is the same,


and both bring you to the next place

which is waiting to take you into its arms.


for tjr

your one beautiful life

april is a good month:

rain, flowers, thunderstorms,
beginnings;

birds returning,
calling to you in the
early dawn.

it’s a good time for writing,
a good time for waking,
a good time for napping

in a hammock in the yard.

it’s a good time for finding out
what you really want,

what you’re made of,
what you will and will not tolerate

in this, your one beautiful life.

liquid loop

i have note books all over the house,

and pens, and pencils, and markers,

and sticky notes, and highlighters;

and still i fail to write things down,

forget things before they can be captured,

lose the words, the notes, the momentum,

the dreams, the meanings.

some things are meant to be lost; to be found

only in the ether, free from paper.

the liquid loop continues to run

through my mind,

changing with the wind,

with the tide:

elusive little bitch,

she takes me for a ride.

it won’t stop until i die.

sun day

i wake to morning light

communion breeze

song birds

child safe, asleep

 

openness, forgiveness: a

gentle bringing together of

dream-forgetting and

kind remembrance;

 

even the pairs of

mother-child fighting

outside my window are

pieces of mirrored divinity

 

attending to each of

these gifts gathered here

with the senses i have received

i partake in a humble holiness

 

this is my church

and inside i am the

minister, choir, and body

of the word of God

tread

 

every one keeps trying to hand

me so many styles of shoes.

 

i like the little quiet of

bare feet.

 

like being wed

to a cocoon,     held

 

in its soft meta

morphosis;

 

openness: whilst

outside cloth-lantern

 

windows, people buzz-opining

 

for the tallest,

sharpest heels.

 

how can you have

laws of war?

 

how can you not?

fire wall

 

think with the body

every thing

is in a state of

change

 

loose lips

living works

torched

everything is in a state of change

 

energy. matters.

the noun moves the verb:

 

makes love to its

self not in sex but in

love-thinking down

to its center

 

particle by particle

until the sum of its

loud quiet parts tips

a hand and for one

 

evening-span makes

a slip of sense.

 

 

the valve of the unvitiated moment

she knows that this is a floating

time on a floating ship, that she is

the floating, not the ship, nor the

captain, and that every thing outside of

 

time and space is the static pulled

taut across seas that hangs gray

garments in place and occasionally

dances and sings and means; in the valve

 

of the unvitiated moment she sees

the delicate moving of a good and

gentle quiet, like the breath of moth

wings against a hungry breeze.

and then

perched on a still point

ready to pivot

 

after whirl-wind years spent

trying to outrun grief

 

slate blue hand

held over tired

 

heart; mouth-moved

legs and panic

 

some climb

some dive

some incubate

some die

 

within all lies

the spirit to survive

 

and then,

to fly

physics of you

all the places i have lived

all the places i have loved

 

tiny shard shells felling away

a metronome stripping on an

 

emergency stretcher of time

tandem tending to the

 

meetings of

the minds

 

rewinding the cusp

of the fallen

 

reshielding the wall

of the forgotten

 

to cultivate this

cursive flight of the

 

curlew; these astounded

physics of you.

 

~