Friday, March 24, 2017

climb down from the shelf
of the subconscious of my mind
an archetype Pierrot
remind me that to be this way
is to know
the difference between the neon
and the stars
and that scars are the consequence
of surrendering the placenta
of glasses tinted all in rose
to step into the truth
of this reality
and that joy is best achieved
in the authentic of really seeing
because anarchy of the heart
is the only cure
to put this nihilism
in its place
and that to wear the painted face
is only the disguise
to keep safe what is too much
to take so much
of this disjointed world
when the price we pay
for the art we make
is to fall through the existential plummet
of the propaganda fail
and the only hope
for love to be what love
is meant to be
is to bring the laughter
to the places
that have often made us cry
and innocence is not so rooted
in the luxury of ignorance after all
but gets it's chance to bloom
in illumination that's reached
in hunger for the truth
where clarity of reality
in the exfoliation of fantasy
is all a part
of how the alchemist
crafts the dream

Thursday, March 23, 2017

sometimes I dream you
like rain
falling on my tongue
sprinkled in salvation
sporadic and random
in patterns of chaos
that calm the mind on fire
and blossom the shrinking heart
that withered in its parched
like the taste of cactus
or the the swim
in the river beneath the river
where these secret thoughts
are quenched
and I am here bathing
only in the idea of you
drinking the words
falling from the heavens
of your mouth
without the time to question
what is or isn't real
because even mirage is inspiration
to step closer to oasis
when it's the sacred
that gets us by

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

let me send this whisper
my voice is hoarse
but let it soften its wings
upon the wind
let it carry what words
are never enough to say
and like a ray of sunshine
who can say which it was
that gathered with the rest
to turn the light to warmth
but let this whisper
humbly flutter in
among all the beautiful
of today
to add its voice
to the music of your heart

Monday, March 20, 2017

the most important moment
isn't the moment
but the moment before the moment

when the bud has opened
its tender mouth
with vulnerability
either to be stung by frost
or kissed by light
before it can fully meet the world

and the thirst that is quenched
depends on what drops
escape between the fingers
and what remain in hand
to make it to the tongue

with fate delegating
every moment
the moment before the moment
and fear choosing
the moments that we let die
and so all that each of us can do
is open our mouths
with faith
and take our blinded chance

Sunday, March 19, 2017

time forgets me
it leaves me behind
so that I am in this dimension
that only looks like here
and all that is really real
is all that is not
and what of me
there is to see or know
is a hologram
projected on the screen
of this reality
and love is not a verb
that holds physical space
but only the light I gather
to dream
and what light I can flower
from inside the bud of dream
with hopes the illusion of perfume
will sometimes inspire
the illusion of beautiful here
and let something lost
but eternal in the limbo
hold my name for just a breath
in the way that time forgets me
but still the inspiration
of the light of love
sustains the beating and the evolution
of the phantom of my heart

Saturday, March 11, 2017

For Richard (the words that came after the breath)

this is not your end
this is only your
the way you taught me
never to terminate the thoughts
with a stop
for playing elusive
and hiding just beyond
the other side

and from you I also learned
all you need is one more try
than every time that you fall down
and that trauma when it catches you
is only the white space
when connection is momentarily paused

but what tells the story
is what we write
in the in between
and look at the story you painted
in life
and in words
inside your in between

and now you are out there
swimming in that cosmic stream
ready to share your gifts
with all who take the breath
and then dive in
to find a story
that they can touch and share

somewhere in that ancient river
I know the generations
will find you there...

Monday, March 6, 2017

I can't count the days
because they are more
than I have even lived
that the distant light
has been all that I see
to believe
there is something more
than this
that somewhere in this world
that disjointed me from its bones
there are places still to fit
warmly in the warmth of flesh
and that this reality
is only an illusion
imprinted on the skin
as a brand
but not the truth of the spirit
and I am sorry
for the darkness I have offered
because I am lost and cold
and that is where darkness likes to go
to find its fit
when all these days
of too many to ever count
I have thirsted for the sun
even in the times that I have dug
the holes
to burry myself from all the world
and the ones when echoes reverberated
like ricochets
that wound the heart again
there are so many days my dreams awake
to watch the light arise
then find the light within

sometimes the peacemaker
is only the composite
of internal wars
they absorb
from the world around them
the cage of their bones
buffer zones
for all the demons
they swallow to appease the calm
and what looks like weakness
is more strength
than anyone ever sees
and the only way to be free
is to uncontain the chaos
and let the casualties be
and the wounds inflict themselves
on everything
that is dear to the heart
because the peacemaker
learns to take responsibility
for what the wager of war does
when there's no other way
to stop the destruction
than swallow its bombs
to keep the innocent safe

Thursday, March 2, 2017

come and dance with me
my light is tired
remind me that the best music
has always come
from the exhausted and the hungry
who know it is all the world
will give
and all we really have to give
remind me that victory belongs
to the passionate
and empowered
not the ones who wield oppression
in the shade of shames
they cannot face
share the Tarantas the gods
have taught you
to keep you strong
on the days the notes have been
the only food
to feed a famished soul
awaken me from the numb of sleeping
to see my light is not so comatose
at all
and it is only my eyes
that carry the exhaustion
of malnourishment of the heart
and that dancing is the truest way
the light of the heart
may be revived