when I rise from my chair

You are there
beyond what is mentioned
when I rise from my chair
And predicting the future
always ends in futilities
I could walk with you
through all these words
that are foreign
but I would find
I was burning
in unutterable possibilities

Anticipation you cannot see
in my stride
when I move vaguely along
Plainly oblivious
to all the grass growing
under my feet
You see me
breathing slowly and
wonder how soon
I will fly into phrases
more pleasing than tasting
honey is sweet

A temporary distance
runs in a curve
beyond what is mentioned
Your eyes seize
the fire from
half-truths you can hear
Present moment is held
in nameless rooms
hid in the dark
Where you try
to read notes
I penned for you there

I move vaguely along
to plant footsteps
that lead to my heart
Creating a path
to free your own
from this distance
I am not oblivious
to the grasses
growing under my feet
When I rise from my chair
it's because,
I am anticipating
no change
in our existence

My life stopped making sense long before I stopped trying to make sense of it. Seems so pathetic now to attempt to decipher who I am, but every so often I try it, just in case.

Fight Club

"Why not switch,
Ditch all that doesn't matter?
Why are we holding onto
All this stuff?"

<333 this movie

I hate myself.

And I think everything would be so much

better

easier

happier

without me.

And then I hate myself more.

!

I'm confused for no reason.
I feel like I'm forgetting something.
It's just out of reach in my mind.
It's raining.
But it's not adding up.
Unclear.
Feel like I'm losing my mind.

When The Sun Rises

I don't know. I never feel at home. I've always felt disconnected from this world. Not in an extreme way, just ever so slightly. Like I was walking hand-in-hand with the world, but somewhere along the way I took a misstep, and ever since then we've been out of alignment. But sometimes when the night becomes the morning like it will pretty soon, I wonder if there's something spiritual at work when the sun raises, and it feels like my soul wakes up. Is it possible at times I really become one with this world?

awake again

Is my insomnia making me honest with myself? No, I don't hate myself. I pity myself because I can see the way I struggle with everyday things others do so carelessly. Things that would normally require half the effort.

falling short

A poem falls short; I'd like, instead
to draw a single line from me to you
and watch it curl into a word
so beautiful it's still unsaid –
or press paper to the window pane
so that the day might saturate
a note that brightly warms your hands,
spills birdsong from imagined trees
and buzzes like fat bumblebees,
but I am bound by language, love; I can't.

Moments

Maybe it was the haunting
Opulent light of midnight's
Majestic grace bringing forth an
Ethereal radiance so beautiful yet
Never more heavenly than you. But, on
That night, as the moons reflection hid among the
Slow waters of the ocean, I saw your wings.

Haikuesday

the expectation!
slip my finger in; pry your
envelope open...

Spark

Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swaps of the not-quite, not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists... it is real... it is possible... it's yours.

love me for being

someone who loves scrabble

someone who sleeps with her back near an open window in winter, breath rolling like a river into night

someone who wants to be waken up by love poems by e.e. cummings, and gives a small candle-flicker of a smile before opening her eyes

someone who appreciates the architecture of churches, but refuses to step inside

someone who has hands fit to hold wounded sparrows

someone who would tattoo that name onto her arm in the same color as her skin, so it would appear slowly as she suntanned, people thinking her blood was telling secrets to the world of its own accord

someone who learned Spanish to read  Neruda

someone whose hips whisper their own stories of the serpent and the garden of Eden

someone who playfully bites the back of their neck, or like a leopardess, carrying her kitten to safety

someone who will make him wait for her to come out of the shower

someone whose smallest movements are most amazing: the falling of her hair over her shoulder, the deep sigh when she sleeps

someone who maps out every ticklish part of his body, and uses her knowledge strictly for evil

someone who paints their bodies black and makes love under the stars

someone who burns through a chest like the first shot of scotch

someone whose tongue nervously traces the roof of her mouth

someone who stopped listening to Bob Dylan after he sold out to China

someone who who smells faintly of coffee, cigarettes, perfume, shampoo

someone who understands the unforgivable importance of life

stay

he said
stay with me


and like the leaves that
fluttered to their feet
on that october day,
her excuses fell away

and she stayed.

Light

What I feel inside when I think of you is light; it brightens my day. And like a delicate flower, heavied with dew, I stretch towards the morning sun.

She clasps the rag with crooked hands,
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure of the world,
She stands.

She watches from her mountain walls,
The wrinkled sea beneath her crawls,
And like a thunderbolt,
She falls.

Changes

Its today: all of yesterday
Dropped away among the
Fingers of light and
Sleeping eyes of the night.
Tomorrow
Will come in gentle footsteps
To remove sorrow;
The ascent of the sun
Has already begun.

....

From memories
Of the birds that chanted to me
That sweet morning,
From the
Beginning notes of yearning,
From the thousand
Responses of my heart never to cease,
From the
Myriad aroused words:
Words stronger,
More potent than any;
Such as now
starts scene revisiting.

Shine! Shine! Shine!
Pour down your warmth,
Great sun!
While we bask,
We two together.

Winds blow north,
Or winds blow south;
Day come white,
Or night come black;
Home, or
Rivers and mountains away from home;
Smiling all the time,
Minding no time,
While we two keep together.

Low hangs the moon;
It rose late.
It lags:
I think it is
Heavy with love.