fill

life is lonely:

fill it up.

 

laugh when you can.

be open to things that scare you.

 

sing at least once a day.

try to touch at least one being, and be touched.

 

life is lonely.

it’s ok;

we all know it.

lean into it.

 

there are times when you need

that space,

that quiet,

that gut-wrenching truth.

 

out of that wilderness

can come meaning, purpose,

focus, action.

 

get your fill.

 

 

 

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grown-up love

i go in search of a drink

and find a bar with a door-bell

and ring it and go into the glowing cave

and see earthquake tori calling to me from the tv

from across the continents, saying: let diagonal lies lie;

singing: we are all shell-shocked at one time or another by truth—

this is life. let it be. drink your drink. live your life. love your self, love.

dream

brown eyes,

gold skin,

black cross-hatching,

blue rivers of veins

running through;

i see you. i see you.

your fingers find mine,

carry their own heat;

i feel you. i feel you.

your open mouth holds

what we don’t need to say.

you unfold your acre arms; and

i fall straight through

to the other side.

meet hope

my heart is full.

 

coming back on a high note,

a wave, something that’s still moving.

 

“change is good for me, mom,”

she says.

 

i know what she means. it isn’t

easy; but it’s good.

 

we take the green for granted,

all around us, all the time.

 

it reminds us to keep growing.

 

we are going to keep going.

we are not backing, breaking down.

 

we put our feet in the rushing tide, in the sand.

she runs around like a little girl—under the night sky,

 

on the edge of the world.

 

there is no moon, but we keep looking for it—expecting it

to pop up right at our feet.

 

it’s that kind of night.

 

we go out to the place where we can feel,

and meet hope.

 

miami

you’re in a relation-

ship with the world:

 

put your lipstick on.

 

up a ladder,

up a banyan,

through a canyon,

 

into the arms of love.

 

i should always be

this care free;

 

leave the camera on—

let them see, let them see:

 

lit, full of engine energy;

who i wanna be:

 

blood-letting—

just me, just me.

 

 

get up and sing

she tells me to get up and sing.

but that seems to go against everything.

 

singing is for things with wings.

 

i used to have wings.

i used to suck the marrow out of them.

 

but this passage of time . . .

this long, harrowing voyage—

with all its mysterious baggage—

 

has left me standing alone on a

platform in the middle of the sea.

 

i want to jump off the seawall.

 

why can’t the devil be saved?

 

if love is that big,

that all-encompassing,

then why does he remain lost?

 

neither height, nor depth,

nor principalities, nor powers,

nor things present, nor things to come

shall separate us from the love of god…

 

is it because he is

one of the principalities?

one of the dark divides?

 

did he choose that?

can he choose not to be?

 

is he a he? an it? a piece of all of us?

 

is it that he/it/we will just never admit

to needing to be saved?

 

how long can wrath take the wheel

before it submits?

 

are we that self-destructive,

that self-loathing, that we would

rather die for an eternity than

admit we are broken?

 

i don’t know.

 

maybe this is why we get up and sing:

 

because everything else is just too hard,

and i’m tired of teetering

on the edge of nothing.

the queen of afterthoughts

i’m the only one

the puppy won’t love.

 

maybe it would have been me,

eventually, who cheated.

 

inside, i think i am safe;

but i just feel tiny.

 

i twist and turn, a mini-cube

trying to solve all my problems.

 

you started dying in utah.

 

the three of us were outsiders;

together, deep in thought.

 

now you are both gone.

 

she’s always there, now,

when i dream of you.

 

this means something.

 

meanwhile, my girl holds up the

walls; blocks the door, the windows.

 

her arms are exhausted.

 

and she is wading into the

deep water of adulthood.