Reprieve

She's home

and you're so tired.

So happy to hear

your mother's voice.

Soft yawns.

I tell you

to go to sleep.

You need to get up

early for work.

We say our

I love you's

I miss you's

A distance of time

and tiredness.

My eyes tear up

from exhaustion.

So I think.

Oh how I miss you

Oh how I miss you

Continental Divide

Oh, I miss you!

Yes, yes I do.

Do you believe me?

I hope you do.

This longing,

must we endure it?

For now.

For now. 

Change, My Darling. Change.

Who are you becoming?

Do you still recognize yourself?

Are there many grey hairs?

Do you dye them or let them be?

Can you hear everything ok?

Do your thoughts ever get muddied?

How long does it take you to find the word?

Is that the right word?

Are you becoming kinder

and more patient?

Do you tell everyone

I love you

whenever you have the chance?

You should do that no matter what.

Cold winters,

hot summers,

a spring caught in between,

birthdays and holidays

marking time,

letting it wash over us,

knocking us into the surf,

looking for our new glasses,

knowing the sea has claimed them

The Writer of Average Skill and Intelligence

My drinking was the least interesting part of me.

It consumed me for far longer than I would have liked.

How many people believe the cowardly myth

of the great genius alcoholic writer alone with a bottle, 

their troubles, and a writing tool of choice, on those

long and lonely nights of drinking towards ecstasy?

The only creation was a dark void I kept feeding.

What was the point of those years? What did I learn?

I never want to be a great genius alcoholic writer.

It was killing me. I was never a genius to begin with

and I am certainly not one now.

The Professors

Waves moving in and out

The steady pace of water

Darkness enfolding us

Hands and bodies entwining

Lights disappearing into the darkness

Breath painting over windows

Lights approach and pull alongside

Told to move along 

We laugh nervously

Finding more seclusion

Only to be approached again

We laugh at our fortune

What song was playing 

I'll never remember

The Obsession

How much beauty must I consume

until I have been sated

Taut young skin

Lustrous locks

Eyes that pierce deeper

than a bow

Graceful gestures of the hands

covering obscenity

Obsession renewed 

generation by generation

Propagation the endgame

Nature enduring

Vessels for life

Beauty in decay

A rose dried up

in the vase

The Weight

I am a poet of no particularly grand vision

My imagination goes forth in spurts

feeding off of memory- 

embellishing here and there

My concerns for my loved ones

weigh more heavily than the world

How much do I carry

How much have I let go

How much more will I lose

Everything

in time

Tenderness

Days before Valentine's

88 degrees

You tell me how nice 

the weather has been

It's in the 40's over there

Your father is doing ok

considering the circumstances

with your mother-

still in the hospital

for a few more weeks

We're all hoping for the best

My attention span

isn't what it used to be

I'm trying to keep it straight

I'm no ruler

not even a plain straight edge

though I keep things

ordered in ways 

I think about the day before

New Year's Eve

your Mother in her wheelchair

brush in your hand

combing her hair

the two of you unaware

I'm just out of sight

watching a moment

more tender

than the heavens 

could allow

I, Vampire

Who was I then

Who am I now

reading through

old words

thoughts

and memories

The self

cannot see 

the reflection

in the mirror

Does the self

now feast

on human blood

For Maggie

Living   breathing

caught be tween

light   darkness 

                 and light

Winter's fingers grip

a little while longer

Temporal

I drift in the sea

between continents.

Calmness

caresses me.

Blue softer

than sky

above us.

Those who 

love us

carry us

into the future

 

Satchidananda

Eternal Ocean-

how deeply do your waters

move within me?

Waves crashing upon 

shores of memory.

Is this Yes?

Is this Now?

Yes and Yes.

Give and give

kindness.

From yourself

an endless spring.

Drink.

An Exercise in Freedom

I have to let my mind speak as quickly as it wishes

If I am to let it free itself from that which holds it.

What is the point of doing anything except that which

aligns with the heart? Tell me the worth, the value?

I listen to Leonard. His voice could be an aged wounded

lion resting on the savannah. What would he say of all

the lives he has taken? Necessary. Were I to forfeit my 

life for want of food? To live I must kill. Obligation and

necessity. Teeth sinking into flesh, blood staining fur. 

A sacrament eternally renewed. Listening, yes, I am 

listening. I must allow myself freedom. Cut the anxiety

and worry and let the moment be. This moment. One 

and only. Holy, holy, holy. I will sleep in peace knowing

you are next to me. Breathing with eyes closed. Holy.

There is no end to us. There is only being. There is only

rearrangement. New visions from old matter. Explain

consciousness. Ah, yes. Yes. Sit here and listen to the 

story of existence. First there was nothing, then everything.

Nothing was possible. Everything became possible. 

A squirrel scrambling up a tree. You, watching from the

corner of an eye, being and letting be.

Many Faces

The many faces of God

I am that which is I

This body

This home

Eternal

Temporary

Behind your eyes

all answers unfold

Breathing

Breathing

In

Out

Breathing

Breathing

Let Me Be This

Let this love wash over me.

Let this life wash over me.

Exalted. Holy.

Let me be the water in the stream.

Starlight

Time isn't what we believe.

Can we live

unstuck

from our perceptions?

Toddling along

walking for the first time,

driving a car alone,

drunk with a friend,

sitting with a dying parent,

awaiting my own transition.

Is this the order?

Existing simultaneously

eternally.

Points of light

scattered into infinity.

Brightness in the dark.  

A New Suit For An Old Job

I see him walking down the street

wearing a bespoke black suit.

Aviator sunglasses and black fedora

cover his head.

A woman walks towards him-

and averts her gaze

not knowing why she is unsettled.

I know who he is. 

I don't know who he's looking for.

It's not me, at least not today,

I hope.

try and try

and try and

try and try

and try and

try and try

and try and

try and try

and try and

try and try

and try and 

try and try

and try and

try and try

and try and

try and try

and try and

try and try

and try and

try and try

and try and

try and try

and try and

A New Old Self

Who am I still trying to be?

I ask myself over and over

and get no closer.

Do I need to be an I?

Is the I already present?

Yes, yes.

You know the answer.

Don't try any more.

Become who you are.

Cocoon

The year begins again

mid-Winter.

How strange but

when best to be reborn 

after a season

of death

Hold on to me

under covers

Keep the darkness

at bay

New Sights

Steven has been gone since May.

It wasn't quite Mother's Day

when he checked out

but he made sure

to be gone by then.

I remember when Jesse left.

He was so young.

It was an accident.

He certainly didn't mean

to go so soon.

Steven was never the same.

Now they wander

at the edges of reality-

seeing far more 

than any of us.

Grounded

How far will the birds fly today?

How high will they ascend?

From a distance

how small will they appear?

Standing on the ground

can you imagine

such creatures taking flight?

From behind a window

watching the grey cold

covering the sky

you wonder

of your mother's health

as she rests in a hospital room.

A New Day

Jumping into the winter chill outside 

even the trees shudder

Bundled in warmth

Breathing in the frost

Where do the deer roam?

Stealing the Future from the Past.

Move forward into your fear

and through it.

Where Do We Begin

Where does a body begin?

Is it in the hands?

The fingertips?

Is it in the color of the eyes?

Does it begin

in the rumblings of the stomach?

Is it between the legs?

Is it in the tips of the toes?

Is it in the tastes of the tongue?

Is it in the lips

or in between?

If the lights go out

in the windows

then you know

that is where

the body ends.

In The Jungles of Home

I feel more heartbroken and sad

now than I have in many years.

I don't particularly feel like being

myself right now. I just want 

to be alone, to be quiet and feel

the sadness rising like a wave.

What I feel seems like it would be

paltry compared to the grief of others.

Grief is grief. It sits like an uninvited

guest who never really leaves.

The Selves

It's best I've changed.

I've been a fool 

for most of my days.

I shouldn't feel embarrassed

because it's fading 

into the distance

of the rearview mirror.

I'll make new mistakes

but they'll be better mistakes.

Of that I am sure. 

How do the trees feel

year after year,

season after season?

Are they ready for the winter?

Are they longing for spring?

They are no fools.

They are obedient

only to themselves. 

Unified

How do you define the abstract?

Peace.

Such a monumental word!

So much contained

within five letters.

An endless goal

for countries and self.

Is it quiet?

Is it stillness?

Is it a stoic mind?

Peace.

What image is in your mind?

Sitting on the sand

as the waves come and go.

A stray seagull flying by.

The great yolk

falling into the sea.

Wars have been waged for peace.

Almost all ended unsuccessfully.

Are you a bodhisattva?

Are you a Saint?

Are you an enlightened atheist?

Can I tell you a secret?

There is no division between us.

There never has been.

POV

Who is the eye

which sees?

Who is the you

which sees?

Who is the I

which is me?

Who is the you

between us?

Who who who

is asked endlessly.

Who I was

is not who you were,

who you were

is not who I am.

The who and why

is always the question.

The answer is always

subject to change

without notice.

Telescope

That which was bound 

becomes un.

Condensed matter

scattered

into infinite expanse

ever expanding,

bringing light

to the far corners

of infinity.

Pale blue,

swirls of white,

smears of green,

smudges of brown.

Skeletal arms

held in place,

reddish brown

leaves

stubbornly cling.

A lonely being

still clothed

before

the snow.

The Reason

This has always been

to ease my mind

to ease my heart

of worry

and dread

to lay my fears

and insecurities bare

to see them before me

in words so plain

to let myself

feel the pain

to let myself 

move on

to live on

and feel

a measure of joy

to feel the sun 

on my face

in November

Cuts

If I cut myself open

will you love me more?

How many secrets,

how much truth

do you want from me?

Will you take the blade

and press it to your belly?

Steady your hand.

Let me give you mine.

There is no special wisdom in my words

I hope that's not why you're here

I remember what it is to hold on and let go

I'm learning still and it will always be this way

Unsentimental

I love you

You are unsentimental

but it's only an act

You love me too

On these cold nights

beneath blankets

your head nestled 

on my shoulder

your hand resting

over my beating heart

There is peace 

between us 

in our imperfection

It wasn't always this way

But it is now

and for as long

as love can endure

The Speaker

I speak to myself

Make promises

Make wishes

Say dreams 

and ambitions

Fears and uncertainties

The voice is always speaking

and I can never 

get a word in edgewise

I have always been this way

What can I do

but listen

and hope I can learn

something

from myself

from the world

I find myself in

Twelve Years

When you said it had been

twelve years

my disbelief covered me

in anxiety.

Had it really been that long?

Had that many years

passed between our lives?

It took me only a moment

to realize you were right.

So many of those years

I spent unknowingly 

lost in the cloud of my life.

My pursuits and ambitions

got the best of me

and pushed me 

to the edge of the canyon.

I had to learn to make peace

with life.

I had to learn to make peace

with myself.

I am a student

and always will.

When I look at the pictures

of the two of us

I feel as old as I look.

You look as though

a portrait of you hangs

hidden in an attic.

You told me 

you feel your age.

That when you smile

the crows feet appear

and I wonder how 

they ever tread 

upon your face.

You said your daughter

would be at home here-

the place we both grew up.

I could see you fully in her.

I know you're right.

I told you to come back.

Come back home

and let your daughter

reach her hand to the moon

and hold it with all her might.

Home is the Destination

I spent too many years

escaping home

escaping myself

like water

from hydrant

pouring into 

the streets of the city

on a hot summer day

Nights and years

became a movie without end

Plunging deeper 

into the work

into the drink

into anything

that kept me

from staying still

for too long

She is sleeping next to me

and I am here

remembering

writing

and knowing

there is no other place

I'd rather be

That this is where

I am and where

I long to be

Pause

Dreaming of a future yet known

push aside hesitation-

embrace the path ahead 

This way and that- 

always a fork in the road

The answer is obvious 

except when it isn't.

If you are ready to move forward

then direction doesn't matter

as long as the feet are able

and willing 

Human

The body

The center of existence

The home of Moon and Sun

The place of Light and Darkness

The interface

The ground of the soul

The shelter and the storm

The subject of art

The prison

The corporeal universe

The subjective truth 

The joy of life

The senses

The coffin

The animal

The scholar

The dying

The wizened

The fool

The cage

Changling

I have changed because 

the day has changed 

I have changed because 

the week has changed 

I have changed because 

the month has changed 

I have changed because 

the year has changed 

I have changed because 

the decade has changed 

I have changed because 

the world has changed 

I have changed because 

my heartbeat compels me

I am changing because 

life is changing 

Liminal Space

How often do we find ourselves

caught between worlds?

In this liminal space

what do we choose to do?

Will you open your eyes 

and see the stars surrounding you-

their light beautiful and blinding.

the rain stops for a while

as the clouds grow pregnant once more

Gripping

Do your hands ever get tired

from gripping and holding on

so tightly

How the joints ache and 

the hands cramp and 

sweat greases the palms

When is enough

When do the fingers know

when to let go

Advice on Dam Building

All the meaning you have created

All that you hold in and hold back

Be ready for the time

when it will need to emerge

and God help

whoever may be there

Good Luck

If you are trying to live

good luck

If you are trying to find meaning

good luck

If you are looking for love

good luck

If you are hungry

good luck

If you are overeducated

good luck

If you are tired

good luck

If you unlucky

good luck

If you are awake

good luck

If you are human

good luck

If you are reading this

good luck

If you are writing this

good luck

you need it the most 

Volumes

Between now and tomorrow

is the whole of human existence

Memories become words

Soon the page 

becomes life

and continues

volume after

volume

Invitation

Hiding behind the fence 

I cannot be found

Come inside 

to the living room

to the kitchen

to the bedroom

no one will know

unless you want them to