Behind the Scenes
Life is better this way.
And this is how it all happens, I begin to begin and the story guides itself to the meaning, it has created its own symbol, its own way without me having to force it. It is always brimming and there is no need to worry, it will show its seductive face. Always. This is where I feel alive, in these words, delirious as I am in the inbetween place, almost asleep, can’t sleep, need to stay awake, but need to create, have to stay awake because I’m working.
Life finds meaning again.
Keep moving. Like the water, always carve your way.
1.
I see a swirling mass of people/
Sputtering/
Words with mismatched mouths/
All the murmurs uncomfortably
forced out like a square peg/
The air is cold between us/
My thoughts can’t travel on this
Broken stream to you/
2.
My eyes move across the room—
They stop.
I look out past my glasses—
and see,
Something so strange to me.
People are talking.
But their words are out of sync
With the movement of their mouths.
I try to understand,
But I can’t,
Because their eyes are rolling,
their mouths are frothing,
and arms are flailing.
And they say they are singing,
But I can’t hear the melody,
and I can’t hear the song.
What I see,
Perplexes me.
Gold Road
The solid myrrh and smoke bells swayed.
Along the table, upon the alter, a crumbly mess was made.
The crowd wept,
Up up they looked, swallowing their tongues with song.
Choking chests and thumping hearts bore
the weighted pen,
Drip Dripped, on pages, buttery thin.
Smaller faces with good graces
Pulled their cheeks to grin.
Their heads were light
Not heavy like the rest.
Their hearts were soaring,
Not sinking through their chest.
And the sun broke through the fog
Elating all the best
The fog that fell, hovered over,
Sunk in and,
Consumed all the rest.
No Tree
A seed passed by me and tumbled to the side.
I grabbed it’s thorniness and pressed it to my thigh.
It swelled inside my body,
It swelled inside my mind.
I said, ‘this has to be,”
and so,
it bloomed within my thoughts,
it bloomed within my eyes.
But dry winds gusted through my yard,
and the grass was all but gone.
A dessert formed within my home
and vines refused to grow.
So I took the seed
and crushed it.
No promise, but a lie.
I blew the dust that remained and
sadly said goodbye.
The Man in the Attic
I held a stick within my hands
I held it skritchy scratch
It was long and gangly and dead and
much bigger than a match
I swung it in the air and
Whoosh!
It made me smile and laugh
I ran and swung it round and round
while on the stony path
Then I stopped and stood
and then
I threw the stick an
Smack!
I made the stick proud that day
when it caught that bad man's back.
Periphery
The moon pulls our eye.
Darkened grounds, low lit,
And the earth sighs.
Gentle streams of light,
Feed on our arms and thighs.
Rivers reflect a further guise,
A thing obscured from our sight.
As bright lines draw the edge of leaves,
And milk drips glint with reverie.
Minds soon forget the cloak.
Orbs grow to see the sun at night.
Black trees and shadow skies.
With endless flutter and howling cries,
as the ether fills with spotted light.
Rising up,
Radiance lures our eyes.
Hungry to see, surrender,
And not become blind.
Hills fade and colors transform,
From the corners we almost see it.
And we can only know, when
it leaves us all behind.