Now serving A224 at Station One

 First time back
In about a year...
Staff shortages
Cut the hours of availability
In the VA hospital in Temple, TX,
Back then,
And, living paycheck to paycheck,
At the time,
Taking a day off
For the hour and a half
Trip up route 35, 
And then the same back,
Just couldn't be scheduled in
If food, gas, and a roof over my head
Were to stay solid.
Austin VA clinic recently became
A thought in my head
As a means to ensure
My health was doing alright. 
Some things were long overdue
In that arena,
And this
Was only a 10 minute drive...
Shit, shower, shave
Before going in early for 
The scheduled blood draw
Before the appointment
In the afternoon.
You never know
How long these things are going to take...
How long you're going to wait...
On the walk in 
From the parking lot,
Cloudy, dim morning,
Was that a dead black sparrow,
Yellow headed bobolink,
Laying on the pavement,
Or a blackened banana peel
Enshrouding a half eaten fruit?
Turned out to be the latter.
Not so much an omen
As it was human negligence,
Simple trash...
Needles aren't my favorite thing...
I do alright,
Pain isn't an issue,
That quick stab,
But a foreign object
In my veins,
Sharp, shiny steel, 
The thought of it
Is bothersome...
Probably need some boosters
Later in the day...
More steel,
But not for the same
Length of time...
Just a little bee sting...
Got here at 11 am,
Not many people 
In the waiting room,
But it's been a half hour 
Already...
A232 got called in
Before my A224...
The numbers just don't work out...
They never really do...
Status quo...
A majority of the folks
Are maskless,
A few, like me,
Are masked up...
A delicate balance
Between mask and glasses
To avoid
Fogging up
As I write...
Woke up a few times the night before,
For some reason
Remembering dreams of my second wife...
The fertile one,
As she would likely say...
We endured two miscarriages
And one ectopic pregnancy
Which had to be terminated
With chemotherapy
Before the pressure of loss
Made things metaphorically break
The way our embryos
Kept breaking...
Every time one died,
I ended up
Shouldering the blame...
She eagerly placed it there,
And, each time,
Every blood test and ultrasound,
Drifted farther away...
Anyways,
In the dream,
For some reason, 
She was dating Paul Rudd...
There was a small get together
To celebrate his birthday...
I guess
She didn't expect me to be there...
She was mildly surprised,
But not upset, to see me
On the couch
In what appeared to be
A modestly sized apartment
Not much larger
Than the apartment
I lived in now,
In the waking world...
He was being indifferent to her...
Her facial expression
Said that this had become
Sadly status quo...
She hung close to me,
Still beautiful,
And she gave off
An alluringly sweet smell...
Her adult son
Was nowhere
In this dreamscape,
Which was nice...
In the real world,
He couldn't stand me,
Just as he couldn't stand any man
Who had the audacity
To show interest
In his mother...
She kept leading me off to shadowy corners
To gaze at me
Like she once again
Wanted to be lovers...
Like she wanted to ask me
a question
that never fully formed...
I don't recall if we kissed,
But she exposed one of her breasts
To me,
And I accepted the invitation
To touch her...
I don't know if we actually
Spoke out loud
In the dream,
But there was some kind of telepathy...
She was in my mind,
And I felt her emotional reaction
To the indifference of her 
Current man...
I don't know why it was
Paul Rudd...
He was just as charming
As he comes off as being
On screen,
But their relationship
Left her
Wanting...
Now,
In real life,
She cut all communication with me...
But dream her
Still had warmth...
Some things I do miss...
Then, suddenly,
We went outside
To some sort of
City-wide, digital/holographic 
Re-enactment
Of a J.R.R. Tolkien novel series
If it had been written
By H.P. Lovecraft...
A 1-to-1 scale projection of Cthulhu
Hovering just over the horizon,
Tentacles writhing,
But somewhat pixelated...
People were running to and fro
Dressed as Hobbits and orcs,
Wizards and elves...
Swinging prop swords at
Holographic projections
Of larger creatures
That popped up in various places,
And then disappeared...
She and I were entertained,
Rather than terrified...
We crept behind bushes and trees,
Her staying intimately close,
Arm linked in mine,
As we avoided the flash mob
From a safe distance
To observe,
Rather than participate...
The production budget
Must have been Hollywood sized...
Her celebrity Beau
Was back at his apartment
Doing birthday shots
With friends,
In the living room,
Unperturbed...
I lost track of her
Before waking up
While looking for my 
Wallet and keys...
A lot of my dreams end that way,
Me frantically looking
For my wallet and keys,
Or something else
That I've lost
Before waking up...

Monster

 "I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other."
- Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

I survey
The lay of the land
By mapping 
The bruises pressed into
My emotions...
Delicate things,
Always have been...
The precursors of intellect
Existing long before
Logic evolves...
Made up of bits and pieces 
Of long deceased ancestors,
All of us...
The double-heliacal thread
Winding around the caduceus,
Reaching back 
To the first moment
Of abiogenesis...
A lightning strike
Under just the right conditions 
On a planet
In just the right spot
In its heliocentric orbit...
The sweet spot...
Nothing is learned,
It is simply remembered,
As the ancients say...
Primordial thoughts
Spanning millennium
Course through
These veins...
And yours...
And yours...
And yours...
Promethean chains
Spiraling 
Generation to generation...
I apply cartographic principles
As I walk the land masses
Formed by emotion...
As foreign to me
As it is
To any outside observer
Of this creature...
This creation...
Delicate things
Striving for balance...
A stoic appearance,
The crust and upper mantle,
Protecting 
What is plastic...
Soft and hot...
Thin sheet of skin
Drifting slowly...
Change taking eons
When left alone,
Or strikingly abrupt
When exposed...
A barbarism
Called home...
So many
False starts and miscarriages...
So many dead branches
And cataclysms 
Before I came to be...
Somewhere inside 
I hold all of their memories
Even while my own
Seems to have so many
Holes...
So many apparent misunderstandings...
I remember to breathe
Slowly
As I try to steady the sextant
Under those slowly drifting stars...
Temporal waves
Rocking me gently,
But still darkening
Like a freshly bruised pear...
As delicate as these things are...

Roadside Attraction

 Just like a curiosity shop,
These collections of words...
Curios and memories,
Both antique and antiqued...
Observations
About time and mind...
Random visitors
From places
Other than here...
Non-local entities
In a non-local universe...
Do I exist without an observer? 
Does quantity of matter 
matter?
Random hits
And a handful of regulars...
Like those signs for 
"The Thing"
Posted every few miles
On a long, flat highway
Traversing arid land...
What you find
Might be simply
A fabrication of reality
Created by the owner...
A cry in the dark 
For someone to notice...
Is it really 
Desiccated flesh,
Or is it plaster of Paris,
Chicken wire, and rags?
Selling
Pieces of gray matter 
In exchange for
The attention of maybe
A half dozen views
On a good day...
But maybe it's worth more than that,
My time,
Things that have to be written down
Out of compulsion 
To express
What's inside
This rusted cage...
A taxidermized half monkey
Sewn to the tail end of a fish?
A hairless coyote with mange 
Passed off as a Chupacabra?
What has starved
In that "have-a-heart" trap?
Plaster of Paris,
And chicken wire,
And rags...

Slow Anticipation

 Moving slowly 
Towards an 
Undefined goal
Like day and night
At the magnetic poles...
Slowly spinning 
In extended twilight...
Biometric rhythms
Have no mooring...
Untethered thoughts
Capturing butterflies
In spring
In the temperate zones
Of the mind
With mesmerizing nectar
Produced by memories
Of radiating heat...
So real at times
Icy sweat forms
On this glaciers brow...
Dormant life
Waiting for 
The Great melting...
Freedom is 
On the carousel 
Eventually...
Periodically...
Measured in months,
Years,
Or centuries...
No prison stands forever...
Frozen lichen
Covering the rocks below
Waits for the ice
To turn into
Nourishing tears...
Mother's milk...
Carbon-based latticework 
Reacting
To global warming...
Nickel-iron core
Surrounded by syrupy magma
Slinks below the surface...
Hard thoughts
Protecting
A soft heart
Above...
Breaching the mantle
Every now and again
Should bone strike bone...
Matchsticks,
Dry and brittle,
Exploding
With brimstone fire
At the tips...
Incense smouldering
And musky sweet...
Ash slowly fluttering down
Like butterflies
In the stomach
As you scan the crowd
For a familiar face...
The microphone 
A distant memory
Hanging the perfect distance
From your mouth...
Not close enough
To feel your breath...
Not close enough
To hear your pounding heart...
But close enough
To not be
Too close for comfort...
The eyes watching
Fill that space 
Well enough...

Gilded Silence

We are,
Temporarily,
Consumed by what we touch...
Assimilated...
And we become
The essence
Of such things
For a time...
Welts left behind...
Iconographic characters...
Hieroglyphic scar tissue...
This is how memory
Burns itself
Into the skin...
The people we physically touch...
Those that touch our skin
Leave swampy impressions
In the peat bog...
Footprints 
Slowly filling
With tea colored water...
Sedimentation
Eventually 
Levels things out,
But the absence lingers
Just as their ghost
Still touches you
Like a phantom limb
Cramping or itching...
Spasms of recollection...
It changes you...
You assimilate 
The torn bits of paper
And the ashes
Of burned manuscripts...
Flaming Constantinople libraries
Turning common knowledge
Into the arcane...
Making what it is
To be human
Something profane...
The politics of social intercourse
And the touch of a hand...
Thumb tracing her lips
Gently....
Blisters raising
From the shock of the heat 
That emotions can produce...
Tracing the scars
With a willow branch
Dowsing for meaning...
What is intentional, 
And what was carelessness?
They say everything happens for a reason...
But this isn't fate,
It's simply experience...
We try to find meaning in the words
Tumbling from
The mouth of the river,
Settling, instead,
To invent something that fits
Our expectation...
There is no meaning
Other than simply being there,
Feeling that touch,
Even after the tide has taken it's tithe
Of the shoreline...

Getting Away with It

 She had a funny way
Of admitting to things
Without actually admitting to things...
Couched in a joke...
A hint of "lol" in her tone...
A touch of pride in her posture...
She'd say
That she "thought about it,"
If she weren't with me,
Of course...
At the time,
I'd cautiously laugh along...
Or she'd set up conditions...
If I, hypothetically, were to do
Some particular thing,
She would do someone else...
Truth to be told,
She accused me of "some thing"
Quite often...
It was never something I'd done,
But there would be a fight about it,
That she escalated,
And she would seek the counsel of
"A friend"
For several hours...
She had lots of friends...
Silly me, 
Thinking, at the time, 
That was the only thing,
Counsel, 
That was going on...
She basically admitted to many things
In one of the two
aforementioned fashions...
The events in particular
We're always brought up,
By her,
At random times,
After the fact,
Catching me off guard...
I guess she felt
That it got it off her chest
In a way that didn't
Fully incriminate her...
I didn't fully see the projection 
Until after the end
When she wanted to
"Stay friends"
After I wanted out,
And got out...
The same "joking" tales
Got retold,
And I didn't even try
To muster a laugh...
Just stared at some non-existent point,
Spacing out...
There was the same "lol" in her tone...
The same straightening of her back
With a bit of pride that
She didn't think would show...
But I notice these things...
And I noticed them in her
As she tried to
Cleanse her conscience
While rubbing it in
Like seasonings 
Into a rack of fat back ribs
Before the barbecue begins...

Cacophonous Jazz Solo

 They only hear
What they want to hear,
It doesn't matter
What you say...
They only see
What they want to see,
It doesn't matter
What picture you paint...
They only feel
What they want to feel,
Even if it is negative or self-critical,
And then they will
Project it onto you...
No one really wants to see
The monster in themselves,
Even if they,
Somewhere in the depths of their psyche,
Or in the pit of their stomach,
Suspect it is there,
Crouching 
In some shadowy corner
Avoiding the light...
But they will easily
See a demon in you,
Pitchfork and torch words
Flying in the face
Of personal responsibility...
Shady mechanizations
Designed to soothe their soul
Victimized
By burgeoning shame...
We all play our part
In the orchestra pit
Oozing cacophonous jazz 
Into a disordered world...
They will place blame on others
For their own clumsy fingerings
Of the chords 
In their improvisational solo...
Of course,
It was you
Who made them
Lose their tempo...
It was you who made them
Fall from the balance beam
To strike ingloriously
The mat below
In a flurry of dust motes
Kicked up by the impact...
Talcum and rosin...
Blindness and fear...
Delicate and impenetrable
Are these things
They tell themselves...
Entangling webs
Covered in sticky dew
Designed to capture
Unwary insects...
Vibrations that alert
Jaws with venomous fangs
Just to the fore
Of a segmented abdomen
That will never be filled...
Driven by the emptiness inside,
But never really
Addressing its ultimate cause...
It's just their nature,
One might say,
Attempting to consume the pieces
That should, rather,
Be assembled
Into some thing new,
Some Rube Goldberg device
Harnessing zero point energy...
These starving creatures
Manage to live off of the void
At the center of their galaxy...
Arising From it,
And drawn back into it
After having been ejected into
The vastness of space...
What they suffer and experience
Is in line with the technical drawings
That they design...
Everything in its place,
Just as they subconsciously intended...
A play where they become
The tragic hero/protagonist...
Well,
Whatever helps you
Sleep at night...
x

Asynchronous

 The clock moves so slowly
Sometimes...
Actually, quite often...
The end of the story
Is where the story begins...
In the in-betweens,
It is a wasteland or a rainforest...
Time feels inconsistent...
Underwhelming...
Overwhelming...
Perception of it
Amplifies either experience...
We are blind men
Chasing shadows...
Trying vainly to capture the unseen...
Deaf men
Listening to symphonies,
The vibrations of planets 
Orbiting the sun...
We feel it,
But can't describe our feelings...
Vainly trying to capture 
That which cages us,
This medium, time,
That physicality
Grows in,
Birth to death...
Growth and decay...
Always waiting, waiting, waiting
For something to happen,
For the mood to change...
Time is just a petri dish of agar, 
And even inorganic things
Propagate through it...
Veins of ore...
Mineral deposits...
Helium powered stars
More dense than physical reality,
Lighter than air...
We measure it,
And we can feel it pass
Like a breeze,
But it has no shape
Other than a line
According to how we have agreed
To perceive it...
We can't touch it
Even though it ravages
Everything it touches...
Just as metal fatigues
Over the years
Under constant load bearing force,
The mind bows 
Sometimes 
Under the force exerted
By the passage of time...
Here again,
There again...
Mixed and remixed
Like the latest internet meme...
We wait in line
For our turn,
Sometimes,
And sometimes
We cut
Too deep...
The needle's hiss
While it's in the spiraling groove...
The crackles and the pops
Yellowing the photo's edge...
Time has no physicality
Without something
Observing it...
It steals our bodies
To prove its own reality...
Borrows our flesh 
For the length of a lifetime,
For the measurement 
Of our conscious ability
To perceive its passing...
Grains of sand
Wearing down the mountain,
And turning mountains into sand...
In the meantime,
We waste time with
Empty, circular conversations 
Reminiscing over stories
We tell and re-tell,
Or of future wishes
We may or may not fulfill...
Every retelling 
Changes an imperceptible bit...
Degrades the initial message
Just a little bit more
Even if, at first glance,
Things appear to be exactly the same...
Having the same arguments 
Throughout history
With no real resolution...
Having the same conversations
Repeatedly
As if there were no memory
Of past conversations...
Even those who study history
Appear to be doomed 
To repeat it...
The same questions being asked
Over and over again...
Constantly either
Searching for meaning,
Or telling ourselves comforting lies
As if we've discovered
What that meaning is...
No one really knows...
No one who knows
Really knows...
We all hear the quiet whispers,
Some try to drown them out,
Some try to amplify them,
Straining to hear
Just one, tiny particle
Of understanding...
But even if they were 
As loud as the Big Bang,
They would still be incomprehensible...
We would not understand...
Sometimes it's like time lapse photography 
Passing at faster than light speeds
As our mass increases...
Slowing us down,
Or trying to,
But rules were designed
To tempt us to break them,
To encourage us 
To drive in the wrong lane,
Come to the wrong conclusions...
Safety was never a consideration...
Waking dreaming 
Where fish can fly
And we are gods of our own
Invention...
Anything can happen in the dreamtime...
Known physics has no true hold
Where we actually exist...
Where we ultimately
Came from...
x

Air Quotes

 Sometimes
People will blame you
For their own
Personal decisions...
It may sound crazy,
But it happens
(Because humans are crazy)...
They will break their own hearts
And blame you
For not 
Telepathically
Knowing their intentions...
I won't say
"Knowing their heart"
Since the heart
Is a simple pump
To move your blood,
And,
Well,
I'm not a cardiologist...
"Love" is often
Nothing more than
"Want"...
Toddlers get very upset
When they don't get
What they want...
They will self-righteously equate
"Want" with "deserve"...
As so called adults,
They will often
Morph this concept into
"Fate" or "destiny"...
"We were meant to be together..."
No,
No one was "meant"
To be with any particular "other"...
Some just happen to be with someone,
And they just happen to fit,
Or just happen to "make it work"...
And they'll get mad at you
If you don't play along
With their irrational fantasy...
They'll sometimes 
Hold onto that 
Anger and indignation
For decades,
Refusing to open up
To the very natural uncertainty
Of life...
Basically,
To use a cliché,
Shit happens,
All you can do
Is take the bullet
And hope it's a through and through...
Cauterize the wound,
If you can,
And keep moving...
Who knows what,
Lurking in the shadows,
Will catch the scent of your blood...
Luckily,
Emotions have no
Vital organs,
Even though emotions
Can effect the health
Of those 
Very real
Internal organs...
Not only can we heal ourselves,
But we can hurt ourselves
When we don't
Actively strive
For balance...
Equilibrium...
No outside influence
Can throw you off balance
Unless you let it...
Just as a "traditional" vampire
Can't step into your home
Unless it is invited...
Wear your garland of garlic,
And sip tea
As you stare out the door
Watching them starve
And wither...
Gather the inevitable pile of dust
Into a dustpan,
When the time comes,
And scatter it
In an abandoned church graveyard...
You don't even have to 
Believe in the superstitions,
The "rules,"
As long as they "believe"...
Fertilize the daisies, dandelions, and native grasses
With the ashes of your
Quiet triumph...
No need to blow the shofar 
To alert the world...
Just revel in your peace,
And go finish your tea
While lounging on your front porch
With a nice, scenic view
Of the many dolmens
Crying frozen tears
For the dead...

The Great and Powerful Clusterfuck of Existence (Squirrels)

 Well...
Time to take Yoda's advice,
And stop trying...
Time to take the Buddha's advice,
And stop wanting...
Mind my own business,
And step quietly 
Over the dog
So as not to
Disturb its rest
As it dreams of chasing
Its own tail
Around and around
And around and around...
Most of the time,
Except when it's small talk or philosophy,
The right thing
Can never be said...
People are complicated
Because of their simplicity...
Used to think,
First thought; best thought...
But that doesn't work with emotions...
Step back,
Breathe,
And then step a little further back...
If the "heart" says to do something,
Stop...
Step back...
Think before performing any actions...
And consider the consequences...
(Emotion inevitably leads to consequences...)
Avoid excess entanglement
Or attachments...
Tend your own garden...
Keep your nose out of others'...
They can tend their own plot...
Row their own hoe, so to speak...
Avoid complications...
When your brain tells you
To pick up that stick
And
Smack the fuck out of that hornet's nest...
Stop...
Take a step back...
Consider the consequences...
Then walk away...
When you think
Something you're about to do
Is the right thing to do...
Stop...
Step back...
Consider the consequences...
It probably isn't the
"Right thing" to do, anyways...
Sometimes there is no
"Right thing"
To do,
So stop trying...
Do it or don't
(But I'd be willing to put money
On "don't")...
Definitely don't try to be good,
Or try to be bad,
Just be whatever you are...
It should come naturally
Once all the 
"Trying" business
Stops happening...
Too many of us try way too hard,
Trying to be this,
Or trying to be that...
Entire lifetimes are wasted
Trying to find oneself...
Silly pursuit,
We are what we are
Already...
Maybe we don't always like
Who and what we are...
Maybe we blame others
For how we are,
But they are not to blame...
Most of the mistakes we make
Don't come from being who we are,
They come from trying
To be
What we think we should be...
Existence just is...
That old "I am that am" thing...
So,
The past is pretty much gone,
All that's left of it is memories,
Good?  Bad? It's all subjective...
The mind reconstructs it
Fresh
Every single time,
And colors it to the requested specs
Before Tearing it down again
And repeating the process...
Just like the Universe...
Just like every "new" moment that passes
In the Now...
Chasing its tail 
Around and around
And around and around...
Every now and then
Dreaming about chasing squirrels
Who are, in turn, dreaming 
About chasing their tails
Around and around
And around and around...
Entire religions come out of this
Tail chasing mess...
Societies rising and falling,
Starting wars and making babies....
Galaxies being born,
And galaxies dying...
Around and around
And around and around...
Millenia seemingly wasted
Dreaming
"I am"
Into existence...
And all of this
Futility of trying
Just is...
Complexity arising 
From simplicity repeated
An infinite number of times...
Electrons spinning
Around and around
And around and around
Dreaming nuclei
All composed of even
Smaller things
Doing pretty much
The same thing,
And so on,
And so forth,
Ad infinitum...
All the way from the bottom
Of a bottomless pit
To the top of
A ceiling with no ceiling...
Just stop trying
To understand it all...
It can't be understood...
It's a mystery to itself,
Why shouldn't it be a mystery
To everyone else
Who happen to be the dreams
Of dogs chasing their tails
Around and around
And around and around...
And
Repeat...
Who really cares if you don't stick the landing?
x

Traces Left Behind

 We leave traces of ourselves
Wherever we go,
And on everything we touch...
A trail of breadcrumbs
Leading from each moment
To the next
And, finally,
Back to us...
The past is the past,
But it's the foundation
Of the now and of the future...
Memory
Isn't history,
And not even history
Can be irrefutably counted on 
To be fact...
Both, however,
Depend upon
Who recorded the events in question...
How they perceived 
The facts presented...
A bit of good detective work
Can come close
To finding the origin story,
Eventually...
A healthy bloodhound
Can find us
By those little bits
That we unintentionally 
Leave behind...
Tracing our steps
Print by print...
Letter by letter...
Noticing the changes
In others
That we have caused...
We don't always
Notice these things ourselves,
On our own...
An outside observer
Is often necessary
Since much of who we are
Lives in the subconscious
And unconscious mind...
Our conscious perceptions 
Exist in a liminal space,
That space between
Self and Other...
Therefore,
Perception can be a
Misinterpreted,
Or, even, un-interpreted,
Line of text...
Sometimes what we see,
Feel, hear, taste, or touch
About our own
Understanding of ourselves
Remains a mystery...
Imagine the difficulty
Of attempting to decipher 
Someone else 
Under these conditions...
Other times
We can gain insight
That approaches truth...
But truth and facts
Can be separate things...
They often are...
Objective vs. subjective,
And vice versa...
Memories can be created
Of things that never were -
A suspect manipulated
Into confessing to a crime
They never committed,
Or a witness 
Convinced by clever words 
Of seeing someone
Who was never there...
Our brain reconstructs moments
From the past when we
"Remember"...
Unfortunately,
Or fortunately,
It doesn't actually
Replay the reality
Like a camera records light,
Or a microphone records sound,
For playback...
Even eidetic memory
Has its limitations...
A multitude of those little breadcrumbs
That it would take
An outside observer
To verify
Remain unrecorded by mind,
But they exist...
Are we using an iPhone 
Or an android?
PC or laptop? 
What scents do we wear
Versus only that
Which our flesh produces naturally?
How do we sound
While we sleep?
What happens once you
Leave one space in time
And move on to the next?
There are traces left behind...
Always a path 
Unique to each individual
That can be identified
And followed
Deductively, inductively, or abductively...
We can recurse these methods
On ourselves 
If we choose,
When we aren't
Fighting for survival,
Or soothing ourselves with distractions...
Little bits of us 
Get scattered over 
Thousands of miles,
Physically, fiber optically, 
And all manner of ways...
How often do we find ourselves? 
How often do we search in earnest
For that gold?
It's easier to shine the light on
The path, 
On someone or something else,
Because that light can be blinding
When we shine it on ourselves...
Allow your inner eye to adjust,
And shine
like stained glass
inviting the sun...

Breathing Underwater (Recovered from October 10, 2017)

 Waves swell and crash...
A slow building pressure...
A gentle kiss on the neck
at just the right moment
that is blinding...
Familiar places are no longer familiar...
Brain chemicals flood the bloodstream...
The tide goes out...
*
And the tide rolls back in...
A first kiss that is devastatingly perfect...
Sunset by the water...
Turtles staring up through the surface
anticipating more...
A body buzz that fades in
before the trip takes hold
of the mind...
Anticipating, again...
The tide goes out...
*
And the tide rolls back in...
Clothes shed like leaves in the fall...
Perfection beneath probing
hands, lips, and other things...
Joined like dragonflies
in flight during copulation...
Spinning nearly out of control...
Groaning steel frames...
Gossamer wings...
Just one drop
of blood...
The tide goes out...
*
And the tide rolls back in...
Holding each other all night
on a steel framed cot...
Camping indoors under warm fleece...
Flesh to flesh
and dreaming...
A slow simmering boil...
Waiting for the sunrise...
Rising to the dawn....
And the sweet release of pheromones...
Musk and ambergris...
Honey and cream...
Soft, warm,
helplessly sinking under the warm saline...
Breathing underwater...
x

Geostationary Orbit (Recovered from October 15, 2017)

 The map still has uncharted territory...
There are still places I have yet to go...
People tell me to be careful...
That the unknown is scary,
terrifying...
Throughout my life
I have dealt with the things
that terrify me the most
by facing them head on...
It's how you get over the fear...
I have just as much fear of the unknown
as anyone else,
but I've never let that hold me back...
I'm an adventurer, a wanderer,...
Often that thrill of the unknown
is what I am looking for...
I collect experiences like some people
collect stamps or coins...
These are the things that have value for me...
Some people avoid potentially messy situations...
They've been hurt before...
Maybe they're a little gun shy...
But they should be fearless...
Yes, everything could come crashing down,
there's always that possibility,
even when you are trying to be cautious...
Yes, things could get messy...
Do it anyway...
Wade into that murky water chest deep...
Get your hands dirty...
Risk heartbreak by falling in love...
Will it last?
Even if it might not last forever...
Do it anyway...
It might only be a few nights in Paris...
Do it anyway...
Some people live in fear
rather than being informed by it...
Those uncharted places aren't so terrifying
when you realize
that most basic principles universally apply
no matter where you are...
And there's is nothing wrong with a little terror...
Fear is an essential part of being heroic...
It's what makes the exotic exotic...
I mean,
I'd never jump out of a perfectly good plane,
but I might do the moral equivalent...
I'm not a slave to my emotions,
but they've always been my compass...
They help me to see
the dark in the light
and the light in the dark...
I will risk a little pain for divine pleasure...
I have lived through some dark times
and felt the unbearable lightness of being...
I've been a God and a peasant all at the same time...
Everything and nothing...
Always there are eyes watching,
living vicariously through me...
Some root for me, some root against...
Some fear I might be stepping off of the precipice
and into the unknown...
Truth is, the unknown is where I live...
Those uncharted places on the map
are where I feel the most like myself...
I'll sail this ship to the edge of the world,
and if I fall...
I'm going to let myself keep falling...
Feel every moment of it...
Appreciate it...
Around and around and around...
x
x

Zombies On the Time-Clock (Recovered from October 15, 2017)

 Too many people living in fear...
Too many,
afraid to live...
I'm not talking
WWIII at the hands of
an orange imbecile...
I'm not talking climate change...
I'm not talking gun rights
or crime rates
or any fear concerning bodily harm...
They're afraid to feel...
Plenty of pills out there today to help us
to not feel...
Or not feel quite so much...
They see emotions and emotional connections
as terrifying...
Try to find something to occupy the empty hours...
Crosswords, Sudoku, word searches, video games...
Netflix without the chill...
A comfortable little cocoon
of desperate solitude...
Simply existence...
Passing the time...
Anywhere from dimly to acutely aware
of a deep longing
for something more...
But not so much the will to risk it...
Too many people don't take risks...
Messy and complex emotions...
Reliving past failures in daily affirmation...
Experiencing future failures
without having even attempted
to set a goal...
Too many people waking up every morning
expecting to fail
and so carefully walking the line...
Following the rules...
Coloring between the lines...
Not. Making. Any. Waves.
Sleepwalking, basically...
Avoiding heartbreak
by refusing to feel...
Refusing to just let it happen...
The human heart can break
quite a number of times
and still be ready to break
a hundred more times...
It will still pump your blood...
Life will go on...
On the one hand,
keep the faith...
Believe you can be happy...
Try to accept the possibility
as slim as it may seem...
On the other hand,
you have to do something...
Take action...
Risk your heart...
Yeah, you'll fuck up,
maybe people will fuck you over,
but you'll learn more and more...
And there will be some perfect moments,
at least...
There is always hope
as long as you don't give up...
You are your own savior...
Or you are your own prison warden...
Choices...
Allow yourself to be vulnerable,
emotionally available...
Be your true self...
Authentic...
Take the boards off of the windows...
Tear down the walls...
Open your eyes...
Too many people
who can't stare into their own inner light...
When they shield their eyes
it seems to no longer exist...
And with no apparent light
how can they see what it is
that they are looking for...
It's usually right next to them...
But it may as well
be 1,000 miles away...
They're not literal brain-eating zombies,
but they are like the dead walking...
Tropisms and autonomic functions
and habitual behaviors...
Some neurosis and depression...
Basketfuls of stuff...
And it doesn't have to be that way...
All it takes is one choice...
One decision...
One moment...
One spark...
But you have to take that risk...
x

So They Say (Recovered from October 17, 2017)

They say
everything happens for a reason...
Maybe so, maybe not...
Wherever you go, there you are...
True, but...
Were you really MEANT to be there?
Is there really a plan?
Is there some part of us that is beyond the dimension of time
that looks down with self awareness of its total path
from birth to death and beyond...
Does everything just fit perfectly
with everything else...
Dancing foam...
Probability bubbles creating the froth
that is the multiverse...
Each little particle in constant communication
with every other little particle...
Does this sound like something
that could take on consciousness?
As above, so below...
I have my doubts about total entropy...
There seems to be too much order
and interconnectedness
sometimes...
And sometimes wheels go flying
off the axle...
There appears to be balance of sorts...
Karmic relevance to the results of our actions
interacting with the ether...
Sometimes called the nagual...
Sometimes called the void...
That ultimate chaos that brings everything to life...
Order from chaos...
This raw stuff, the energy, from which consciousness arises
and which is controlled by consciousness...
Feedback loop...
Self awareness...
So, very likely, everything is connected...
Every seemingly random and insignificant detail
has meaning...
All it needs is some attention
and then meaning will follow...
Attention and intention binds the physical world together,
in a manner of speaking...
I guess that would be the logos...
It's different things to different beings...
So when the storms hit...
And there will be tempests...
The secret is to pay attention...
Practice being a bit hyperaware like a soldier...
Be a spiritual warrior...
Know your own center of gravity...
Be aware of everyone else's...
Be in that place between science and mysticism...
Heavy drops of rain that sting like hornets...
You might be temped to shield your face...
Open your eyes...
Pain is just pain...
Just another thing...
Bear it with grace...
If the river crests its banks...
Keep your eyes open...
Some things float just under the surface...
Large and dangerous things
with jagged edges or entangling tendrils...
Sometimes jaws that snap and bite...
Sometimes juggernauts that could crush
your expectations...
Pay attention...
Improvise...
Focus...
Move with the current...
Keep your sense of humor...
Most of what we perceive is illusion anyways...
We are all one...
You and your nemesis are one thing...
One being...
All of your friends and all of your enemies,
they are you and you are them...
Everything that happens
teaches you about yourself...
Teaches the Universe about itself...
Open its eyes...
Find the shore...
Show it what you have learned after the storm has passed...
Record your lessons...
Remember...
Enjoy the calm while you have it...
There will be more storms to learn from soon enough...

The Clock Is Running Out (Recovered from October 24, 2017)

 The clock is running out...
An email alert
signaled the timer
was running...
Somewhat more than two weeks
and we're free to legally
go our separate ways...
We gave it our best shot,
but I wasn't who she needed me to be,
and she wasn't who I needed her to be...
And we didn't know how to communicate
our needs clearly enough...
But even if we could have
clearly put it all into words,
would that have been enough?
I don't think so...
It may have hastened the end...
We dragged it on for a few years...
I ignored the sound of her feet
dragging over every decision I made,
over every idea I had
to try to fix us...
She ignored my pleas for affection...
I buried myself on the Internet to numb my mind...
We used to do the internet together:
Lol-cat videos and Fail videos...
Music videos and stand-up comedians...
Memes and rage faces...
It used to be a shared activity...
No longer...
I remember saying, years ago,
"At least the computer responds when I touch it..."
It was some kind of interaction
other than her talking at me...
We rarely talked together,
had actual meaningful conversations,
but she talked all of the time...
I listened and responded...
But my attention was split between the human and the silicon...
When someone keeps pushing me away,
after a while, I let them...
Glad to begrudgingly help...
But that big alligator clock that killed Capt. Hook
is ticking away
like a big cat slowly purring...
Who doesn't fear the ravages of time?
The biological clock keeps ticking...
I'm not getting any younger...
There are dozens of timers and clocks and buzzers and bells
in A Clockwork Orange style arrangement...
All of them seem to be converging on one single point...
One massive crossroads...
Where time is moving faster and faster,
and yet I am aware of every detail
as if it were in slow motion...
Moving like Neo in The Matrix franchise...
I don't know what the future holds...
But I am ready for it...
I face it like turning my face to the sun...
It is warm...
It is warmth...
I don't feel any icy tendrils of cold air...
I don't smell snow in the air...
I feel life...
Rich deep soil full of life...
Full of potential...
All clocks will eventually run down...
This is just one of many...
Everything we do eventually gets measured by time...
This one keeps ticking until freedom is officially recognized...
Lives will go on...
The sun will keep shining...
All the stars will keep their places in the firmament...
Everything will be the same,
but I will open my eyes to a whole new world...
x
x
x
x

In the Age of Social Media (Recovered from October 25, 2017)

In the age of social media
I'm sure that most ending unions
result in unfriending,
but with frequent and random checks
of each others pages...
Getting a feel for the current mind set...
Looking for warning signs of potential drama...
Deciding whether or not
you need to invest in Kevlar...
Even just anonymously checking in
to see if they are doing okay...
Monstrous stuff...
Of course,
some people always have their posts
open to the public...
Not always savvy,
unless you've got nothing to hide...
Or are a raging narcissist
who doesn't hide a thing...
Emotional exhibitionists like poets and writers and artists...
Some folks leave it to friends only,
this one is prudent,
but not heavy handed...
You can see them,
but nothing new ever gets posted
from your point of view...
Then there is outright blocking...
Erasing yourself from their ability to view...
Going "ghost"...
Sudden blocking can send a chill down your spine...
Like someone just walked over your grave...
What sudden twist in their already
infected view of you
has taken an abrupt turn for the worse?
Did they read something on your wall
that was too cheerful,
you're obviously supposed to be mourning their loss,
wearing a hair shirt,
self-flagellating,
or perhaps they read something that was too honest...
Maybe a bit close to the bone...
What devious mechanizations will they be brewing next?
What kinds of rumors will be spread to your
friends and family or any listening ear?
Will they be told you have some
terminal, exotic disease?
How will you know if they snap
and try to run you over in the parking lot
making you the latest urban legend
with a grain of truth
wedged between your teeth like dog tags?
Good times...
Targeted changes to post visibility are done
to flaunt apparent successes...
Or to avoid contact entirely...
Hiding in plain sight...
How long can they bear to not spy on you
to keep you from spying on them?
Everything can change in the click of a mouse...
Or with one, single screen tap...
Maybe they deactivated their account
to avoid temptation
which is often more than we bargain for...
Seek and ye shall find...
Some people have dummy accounts
as either a fake target
or as a casual observer
slipping in under the radar...
Spreading misinformation and propaganda
is common fare...
All's fair in love and war...
Mystery is always invited...
Intrigue spices an actually quite common story...
Not poignant enough to be considered a tragedy...
Things blow over eventually...
No rage lasts forever...
Peace eventually reigns over all of us
whether we like it or not...
Rubbing arnica into our wounds...
Hoping for the best
as the heavy black curtain finally closes...
x

Head Over Heels

 Should I fall in love with you,
Know that you are not the one for me...
I only know this
From past history...
The people
Who would be perfect for me
Are never the people
I end up falling for...
And the ones
I fall head over heels for
Always destroy me
At the end of the story...
You see,
I see a reflection of me
In their eyes...
And I am drawn to the reflecting pool...
Drowning
In what feels so familiar...
What feels,
At first,
Like understanding...
Like family...
But it never is...
Once they get to know me better,
Those quirks in my
Personality,
That awkward charm,
That drew them to me,
Seems to become 
The things that annoy them the most...
Maybe
They finally begin to see
Themselves in me,
And they don't like what they see...
Or, maybe,
They think that they
Finally understand me,
And the conclusions they come to
Cast a shadow over their hearts...
They never really understood me,
Is the conclusion I have come to...
I could be wrong,
But that's the way it feels...
I tended to fall in love
With the damaged ones,
And I was somehow damaged,
Somewhere I couldn't recall,
But still sharply felt...
So wasn't it perfect?
Shouldn't two broken pieces
Fit perfectly together?
The unfortunate answer,
More often than not,
Is no...
Each puzzle had a few pieces missing,
But my missing pieces,
And theirs,
Came from very different puzzles...
Two very different designs...
Two complete pictures
Can compliment each other,
But one unfinished puzzle
Can't finish a different incomplete puzzle...
I am responsible
For finding my own missing pieces,
Or for painting the blank
Spaces left by the pieces 
I have lost...
So
If I should fall
Head over heels
In love with you,
You should run...
As far as your heart will take you...
Most especially
If you fall
Head over heels
In love
With me...
I have a lot of work to do
On myself
Before I am any good 
For anyone else,
And the sands of time
Keep flowing
As the road passes under my wheels...

Sleepwalking Through the Nightmare

 Progress is slow,
Financially speaking,
But it's happening...
Progress is slow,
Emotionally speaking,
And the soul still aches...
It doesn't know why
Or for whom...
Progress is slow,
Physically speaking,
There is a struggle
Between doing,
And simply choosing
To fall asleep...
Pharmaceuticals
Aren't an option,
They make me feel like
Someone who isn't me...
Would rather feel empty inside,
Than dead inside...
Empty leaves room to be filled...
Fires can be started
With twigs and a few charcoals...
On my own terms,
I can at least
Feel signs of life...
Persistence pays off...
Not giving up,
Even if the work is
Perforated
By moments of slack...
Sometimes those moments
Last longer than others...
Sometimes 
I can even shed
Tears over my regrets...
Not often,
But sometimes...
It's still progress...
I believe
Physical reality,
The one that we see,
Is mostly illusion...
The brain
Trying to make sense
Out of a haze of vibrations
And interference patterns...
Creating stories
From how the ripples
From raindrops
Send rolling waves 
Over other rolling waves...
Circles upon circles...
Two dimensional angelic beings
All overlapping each other
And everything else...
Standing waves
Sometimes looking
Frozen in time
Which is just a wave
Interacting with another wave...
The people behind their facades
Are real,...
Their physicality, 
Not so much as they believe...
It never seems to be
As real as I need it to be,
This life...
Sleepwalking through
The nightmares of others...
Sleepwalking through my own...
My goal
Is to become lucid...
To learn how to control the dreams
As well as the nightmares...
To finally simply know
Peace
While I still live...
x

Le Spectacle et la Quiétude

 The things we do...
The things we hide...
Our hopes,
Our dreams...
Our fears...
This heart can be warm,
Hotter than a blast furnace...
This heart can be so cold
That electrons
Cease their spinning...
Things we do...
The secrets we keep...
Sometimes so well kept
That we don't even tell ourselves...
We immerse them
In the void of forgetting...
They whisper to us
While we sleep,
The good and the bad,
The spectacular and miraculous,
As well as the abominations...
This heart can be
Swooningly beautiful,
And it can be
Nauseating ugly,
All while the surface
Looks exactly the same...
The things we forgive, 
And the things that we don't,
About ourselves, 
About others...
What eats you alive,
From the inside out,
And what creates you
From two microscopic dust motes
Growing into
The person you will be...
Good and evil
Are but human constructs...
We are here to experience
All of it...
Victim or perpetrator, 
Observer and observed...
Quiet moments alone...
Longing for conversations
With old friends,
Or new...
Gregarious times
Entertaining the crowd,
Juggling words,
Or singing to strangers...
Firelight and moonbeams,
Shattered glass and blood...
Hearts as hot as a blast furnace...
Hearts as cold as the void...
And everything in-between...
These are why we exist...
This search for meaning
Is the meaning of life...

She Was Everything

She was everything

I hated about myself...

Maybe that was the draw...

I didn't realize it at the time,

But 

That was how we could

So easily relate...

I've been trying to change...

Trying to learn

How to at least like myself

(I've always struggled

With the word

"Love,"

So "like" will have to do...)

That feeling does waiver,

But "loving" myself has,

In the past,

Been more like lust or 

Overplayed pride...

Closer to a cardinal sin

Than appreciation or acceptance...

And

She was everything

I wished I could change

About myself...

A bloody harpoon

that I pulled out of my thigh,

its barbs taking

small strips of my flesh...

Maybe loving her,

I must have thought,

I could change those things

She hated about herself...

A possible success story

That I could then apply to myself...

I didn't know this

At the time,

But that doesn't make it

Any less true...

The biggest problem

Was that she had 

Given up on herself

Long before I even met her...

When the cement mixer

Stops spinning,

The concrete will set...

I keep spinning...

Not always at the proper speed,

Too slow or too fast,

But the changes are constant...

They never seem to stop...

Even if I am tired 

And feel like I want to

Give up on myself,

I keep spinning...

I never noticed

Until it was too late

That she had stopped spinning

Some time in her teens,

Long before we even met...

Words aren't actions,

So she told me what 

She thought I wanted to hear

When she wasn't 

Breaking down

And trying to place blame 

On me for her nightmares

(This statement is both metaphorical 

And literal)...

She had been breaking down for decades...

I only experienced two years

Of the curing process...

It took me that long

To figure out

How brittle she was...

She is still everything

That I hated about myself...

A symbolic representation

of my own demons...

And, as for me,

I have never really known

What I am,

But I keep changing

Into something else...

All I'm trying to do now

Is get the reigns 

Firmly in my own hands,

Rather than letting the carriage

Go where the curves of the road

Take me...

I am trying

To accept myself,

And forgive myself

For any wrongs I may have done

To me...

Spells and Incantations

 I used to scrawl spells
Into journals
And blank books,
Poetry and prose...
Now I type them
Into electronic devices
And release them
Via the internet...
Incantations
Shared on social media...
Aligning will and action
To effect change...
I poke and prod 
My psyche 
In hopes of discovering 
The philosopher's stone...
Lead into gold...
A cluttered mind
Into self-understanding...
Like Crowley,
My weapons and talismans
Are my words...
I use them on myself...
Sometimes I draw metaphorical blood...
Sometimes 
I almost heal wounds
I knew I had sustained,
But never truly understood...
I creep closer to knowing...
I share my journey publicly 
In hopes that
Random eyes
Might strengthen their own
Journey to themselves,
And that I
Might strengthen
My own resolve
To resolve...
It's all in the actions
Spurred on by intention,
The movements of the hands,
The placement of the thoughts
Become words...
Ideas transformed 
Into ones and zeroes 
Then transformed into
Readable ramblings
Visible on an LCD screen
Thousands of miles from their source...
Technological magick...
I don't have thousands of followers...
I don't make any money from this...
But sometimes I touch something
In someone's mind
While I discover my own...
Sometimes I make someone feel something...
Sometimes I discover a feeling in myself
That I was previously unaware of...
Sometimes in a familiar way...
Sometimes in a new way...
Sometimes familiar things in a new way...
Sometimes in ways that
Change the world
Just the tiniest bit...
Imperceptible to the
"Powers that be"...
I don't raze mountains...
I don't part seas...
But I am sometimes seen
When I feel invisible...
Sometimes I see me
When I have trouble seeing me...
Digging into the dirt
For magical artifacts
Long buried...
Gently brushing away dust and debris...
These are delicate things...
I preserve them under glass...
Put them on display...
Use them to fashion new ideas,
Discovering the old me 
With the present me
To create a new me...
As I will so mote it be
Is as simple as 
Willing my fingers to type words
And pressing 
"Send"...
The intended result
Is the act itself...
The constant search
For my beginnings...
The incense burning...
Frankincense and myrrh...
Nag champa and sage...
Small animals sleeping in
Warm nooks under pillows
And hidden pockets...
Gold is somewhere 
In what once was lead...
The process never ends,
Nor should it...
It's not always easy,
But it is necessary...
Sometimes compulsive,
But always a better choice
Than stagnation
Or succumbing to numb...

Integrating the Impostor

Sometimes 
I feel like
An impostor...
Like whoever I am
Now
And have been since middle school
Isn't the original...
Like I was implanted
Into a pre-existing human being...
I have issues
Clearly remembering
Before a certain age...
There are memories,
But they are few
And disjointed,
Mostly of minutiae 
And inanimate things,
Toys, mostly,
Few of people...
I don't recall
Much of what I 
Thought or did
Other than immerse myself
In things,
Plastic dinosaurs, 
Green army men,
Things that clicked,
And popped, and rattled...
Flashing lights and gears and motors...
Who I am now
Feels like someone
Who stepped in
To a not quite empty shell...
As if that child
Dissociated
And split...
Handed over the reigns
To a stronger personality...
Denied its totality 
For a confused fragment
Who grew to take over 
The vessel...
What did I do?
What happened to me?
Was it shame or trauma?
The me I am today
Fell from the sky,
Surface burning
Through the atmosphere, 
A shooting star...
I left a crater on impact...
A slight indentation 
Of the left side of my ribcage 
Beneath a port-wine
Birthmark...
When photo enhanced,
It looks like claw marks,
Two arcs
Parallel to each other...
Surrounded by mottled flesh
Like scar tissue...
Did I claw my way in,
Or did I claw my way out...
Did I just set in
Like an infection?
Burn in like a fever?
I've always felt
Like I came from
Somewhere else,
Anywhere, but here...
Some wandering entity
That wanted to feel
What it was like 
To be human...
And then became entrapped...
Flesh body suits
Are addicting...
Being human
Is distracting,
A distraction on a soul's journey 
Towards unity...
I question the necessity of it...
A fork in the road
That leads to
Turmoil and entrapment...
Engulfment...
I've never felt truly
At home
In this world...
No matter where I've been,
Or who I've been with...
Strange lands and separation 
Are the wanderer's lot...
Did that child
Dissociate?
Did it re-create
A new self
Just as conflicted and confused 
As the original,
But 
Different?
Shaken like an
Etch-a-sketch,
And cleared?
Or was it an already extant 
Personality
Waiting
For signs of weakness?
Wolf in sheep's clothing,
Or vice versa?
Angel or demon? 
The spirit of a djinn?
Some extra-dimensional entity
That craved a human experience,
But got more
Than it bargained for
And became a caged specimen? 
A butter fly in a jar
Entangled
In this web of gossamer illusions? 
No way out,
And no way home?
Turning over every stone,
And splitting every log
To find myself?
The harder you struggle,
The more entangled you become...
It makes you strong, 
And it makes you weak...
You hold up the world
As it weighs you down...
Time isn't remembered chronologically...
20 years ago
Could have been just yesterday,
And yesterday
Could have been
The beginning of time...
Just 4 years after
The death of my daughter
And I forgot the exact year
She existed...
August 6, 1993 - October 31, 1993...
It happened on a Sunday...
The dedication
In a book I published in 1997
Lists those aforementioned dates
As 1994...
So,
I have a habit
Of Dissociating,
Apparently...
I use my logical mind
To research
The emotional world...
I use my intellect
To piece together
The bits and pieces...
Poring through
Anecdotal evidence, hear-say,
And the many notes I have taken
Along the way...
A half century of research
And I feel no closer
To knowing
Where I began...
Logically,
I know this body
Has parents, family...
I know it was born...
But the psyche?
Its origins still elude me...
I have no choice
But to keep digging,
Obsessive
And tenacious...
I have a hard time letting go
Of the things I do remember,
But they aren't the back-story
That I need to know...
They are simply 
The consequences 
Of what I can't...
More scar tissue
Formed around
That initial impact
Where I crashed down to Earth
Shattering its ribs
Just below the heart...

Learning Curve (Recovered from April 18, 2018)

 We're both
Slightly terrified
We might lose each other,
Separately,
In the recesses of our insecurities,
Informed by our past relationships
Whose memories still haunt
Random moments in the now
With their stink…
We were terrified when we first started
At how much we felt
So fast…
Swept away,
We couldn't control the direction…
It took us and shook us
And we reveled in it
Like kids on a carnival ride…
But now 
We are becoming real love
Beyond infatuation…
We don't always agree on things…
And we've even had 
Stern words to each other
When outside stress
Breaks us down…
One kinda sorta fight
Made us both feel
Tortured…
Walking away
For one night
Felt
Physically bad…
Literal physical pain…
And this is born out by modern medical science,
Heartache is perceived by the brain
As literal pain…
Just being away from her
While I work
Or while she works
Feels
Like I am missing a part of me…
Sometimes
There is a little
Phantom limb syndrome…
I look up
Expecting to see her…
Soon
We will be in the same house,
Sleeping in the same bed,
And this addiction to her
Will get stronger…
The want will not weaken…
My desire for her will remain
As we age
Into the future…
The need to see her face,
Touch her body,
Smell her smell…
It is a part of me…
It feels like it's always been
A part of me…
And we've only known each other
A little more than a year…
Only been intimate with each other
A little less than a year…
But it feels like I have loved her 
For years before I actually met her…
When she put a name
On the longing…
Is it a
Perfect fairytale story?
No,
Neither of us were looking for that,
But what we got
Was more than we'd hoped for…
More than 
Either of us
Thought we deserved…
Starting over
Is not easy…
We'll be married
Before we can live together…
There have been lots of steps forward
And lots of steps back
Even in the small amount of time
That we have been together…
Triumphs and failures…
Lifetimes lived
In such a short amount of time…
Work being done
To procure a home
Is frustrating and arduous…
But we will not give up…
We know where we want to be
With certainty…
We bend the will of fate
To favor us
With our drive to push forward
Even when the wind
Tries to push us back…
We keep our hearts warm
Even though
We both have pasts
That can cool a heart
From the icy chill
Of emotional trauma
And verbal abuse…
We try not to repeat those mistakes
With each other…
Time will tell…
And we actively wait
For that break in the weather
That let's us both shine
Like twin suns…
x
x

I Still Catch My Breath (Recovered from August 18, 2018)

 I still catch my breath
When I see her…
She doesn't think she is beautiful,
But I still
Catch my breath when I see her…
If I tell her  that she is,
She says I'm just biased,
Because I love her…
Maybe so,
But I had to catch my breath 
The first time I saw her
From a distance…
We hadn't even met yet…
I didn't know I wanted her then,
At that moment…
But I think I knew that I wanted her
At that moment…
Then we met
And we talked over cigarettes
In the back of the cavern
Where we worked…
I fell in love with her mind then…
Watched her body movements…
Maybe got a little too close, sometimes,
Just to be near her…
When I touch her now
She sometimes gripes,
"Stop squeezing my fat!"
She's nowhere near any of that…
I'm just groping my future wife
With lust in my heart…
I have to tell her as much…
I'm feeling her bones and sinews…
Like a vampire,
I can feel the blood coursing through
Her veins…
I live off of her fluids,
Saliva and discharge,
Her softness, her warmth, and her pulse…
Imagining her warm and naked beside me…
In my arms…
Whether love making
Or just going down
For a nap…
She feels perfect…
And I love every bit of her…
Even when she gets cranky…
And we've been together long enough
For me to have seen her cranky…
She's kinda cute when she's cranky…
I haven't said that to her,
In person,
When she's cranky,
I'm not suicidal…
And I'm not that stupid…
But I love her when she's indignant,
When she's sad,
When she's in pain,
When she's happy,
When she is victorious,
When she feels defeated…
She is beautiful through it all…
She augments my life force…
I feed off of hers,
And, hopefully,
She feeds off of mine…
And, it's true,
I still catch my breath when I see her…
My heart skips a beat…
I still sometimes get butterflies…
The insecure side of me sometimes fears
She could get sick of me…
I'm not always easy to take…
It may seem like I'm joking 
More often than I'm serious…
And my sense of humor is blue…
Ribald, burlesque…
My emotions are sometimes trying…
She can be cranky,
But I can be a moody bitch, myself…
She gives me hope…
She gives me motivation…
Calms me when I get excitable…
Soothes my anxiety…
She's pragmatic and goal oriented…
That's refreshing…
She accepts my slight androgyny…
That I let my freak flag fly…
She's never barred me from
Meeting anyone
For fear of embarrassment
(I've had other lovers
Who "kept me home"
Because of my dreadlocks 
Or my style of dress,
Bright colors or elastic waste bands,
Might be seen as
A socially unacceptable reflection of them…)
She is beautiful
And she doesn't know it…
And that makes her even more beautiful…
Thankful that she chose me…
I would like to say
That I chose her,
But I don't think that's how
Things really worked out…
I think she chose me…
I was just lucky enough
To notice those subtle things,
Proximity,
Things said under her breath,
Was I supposed to hear?
I think I was…
Showing her belly…
For animals
That's a sign of trust
And submission…
For humans,
It's a little bit more…
She drew me in,
And I could not resist…
I could sense her pheromones…
I could feel her cycle…
If I searched my thoughts,
I could sense every time 
An egg dropped…
I hope she feels like this about me
Until the end of our lives…
And I hope our lives are long…
And I hope we can add to our family
After we are married…
Less than a month away…
Flesh of my flesh,
Blood of my blood…
I catch my breath
When I sense the future…
The future we have together…
The good and the bad…
The victories and the failures…
I still catch my breath…
 

Skipping Stones

 I have been aware
Of my shadow self
For a very long time...
I might have to admit
That I have allowed it
To be at the forefront
Of my personality
For decades at a time...
I would have been
A great and fearsome pirate
Were I alive 
During the Golden Age of Piracy...
I move Silently
In the comforting embrace
Of inky shadows...
I can see in total darkness...
I have the eyes, claws, and teeth
Of the tiger, stalking its prey...
I have not always
Restrained
His hunger...
His need to be filled
At any cost...
And there is always a cost...
Prey animals
Can inflict damage
Before they are subdued
And consumed...
I feel I should remind you
That these words 
Are metaphorical...
I'm not a psycho killer...
And I am not
A serial rapist...
Not a burglar or a vulture capitalist...
However,
If you've ever known me
To be a "good man,"
You've likely been recognizing
The shadow in yourself,
And then done some rationalizing...
A few extra spoonfuls of sugar
To help the medicine
Go down...
I'm not prowling
The seaside ports after dark
With a shiv in hand
Looking for easy prey,
But I am at home
In the shadows...
I'm not hiding there,
But I blend in
Quite easily...
Dappled sunlight
Blends with my complexion...
A curious mixture
Of the dark and the light...
A tiger's stripes,
Or a leopard's spots.. 
My fangs are fearsome, 
And my claws are Razor sharp,
But I can be gentle...
Softly holding a cub
By the nape of their neck
To carry them to safety...
Like most of the rest of us,
I am a curious mixture
Of good and evil...
Spent most of my life
Trying to understand the dichotomy...
Trying to figure out
Just what it is
That I am...
The closest I have come
To answering this question is
That it just doesn't matter...
I just am...
This world just is...
It doesn't matter how it came to be,
It just is...
It is now...
Que sera, sera...
Many have their opinions of me
Ranging from love to hate,
Curiosity and apathy...
Some can see me,
Some see nothing at all
But for the shadow I cast...
They are all correct,
But most only see one facet
Of my totality...
I am a perfectly polished mirror...
I only show you
What you want to see
Even if you don't want to see it...
I'm only there
When you need me to be there,
Most especially 
When you don't know
Exactly what you need...
A wrecking ball
To shatter your illusions 
Of piety or grace...
To upend your feelings
Of self-loathing or depression...
This world of illusions
Is a messy place...
I am comfortable in the chaotic void
That gave birth to this place...
The gleaming black 
Surface of the void
Is the baseline,
And I am a flat stone 
Skipping along the surface...