the flow

things i notice

sitting on the deck step

in november

(without my phone):

the sun lights up the grass

moving in the small wind

sparking, glittering

there's a silvery spider web draped 

across the bottom of the handrail

illuminated, swinging and

will eventually be broken

once I cross, forgetting it's there

black bobtail cat soaking in the light

IS THAT A BEE

no, sigh

my red and black buddy, boxelder

harmless

my own

I was out here so many

nights so many

years

broadcasting. 

broadcasting and broadcasting. 

to myself but we're all

connected, right

collective, right

so why am I still talking to

myself unless of course this is

nothing, or 

imagined nothing which would be

something hey

mental illness mental satellites and 

all the same sounds songs words

filling up life space

making us less just people but

full on souls for lack of better title

forgive my imagination, I keep

seeking out this 

comforting disquiet where

everything has to mean the

biggest thing, it's all real

coincidence makes sense only when I'm

alone, maybe I'm my own

true love. 

swing

we're living and dying all at once

experiencing every moment for the

first and last time, I don't know whether to 

celebrate or mourn, so I do a bit of both

each day, maybe the imbalanced are the

only ones who've got it right

understand the precarious 

balance of reality

tree

telepathy doesn't work

I know

neither does prayer but

never stops them from trying

I'll send this out to the collective, it's 

bound to be picked up by

receptive fellow crazies

I'll think of a word, a tree

send my thought back while I wait on this

island painting the shadows and

shapes from my dreams and I will never

have to go back to normalcy again

underwater and still burning

legs pulled up, tucked

my best imitation of these kittens

that are sharing my sofa & eating my hair

listening to what's mine over the radio

the sisters can't know what's hiding

underwater, nor can I because written

words turn the obvious into mystery

silence turns into wounds, 

all convenient places to hide.

absence doesn't make us fonder

it gives the warmth time to forget

douses with waters deep over flames, 

I can't keep burning so bright. 

I'm pouring these embers, residual and

lingering into words and kittens and piano

keys in hopes that it eventually finds its

way back home and lights the house on fire.

Elephant

April 21, 2019

We sat there

With such a thickness in the room

Each time

My mouth would open

Then shut

Constipated

Like a dumb fish

There are words

That we can't undo

No rewind or do over

Truths that hurt to say

Hurt not to.

It's Ending

(written 6/23/19)

Everything we do
No matter how bright the sun
Is laced with mourning

Bittersweet laughter
Blends into silence
Which is more lonely
When shared

I can't feel anything right

I experience everything alone
Half of us is always asleep
Or somewhere awake and dreaming

I don't know how to say this out loud
To you
So I'm saying it here
I'd rather be lonely alone.

a little help

nothing lands anymore

permanence was always the enemy

nah, not permanence.  

I meant stagnation.

full stop.

but some certainty

just a clue

would help,

you know?

still

I want the

lovely illusions

dancing in my head

finding life

while the world

continued to crumble

around me.

I miss

the beginnings

where I was

beautiful and

happy and

didn't wonder

things I couldn't

voice.

I need

it

back. 

tuned out

I'm so tired

of not being enough

of being too much

no connection

no communication

I'm still here

still the same me

still tuned to the same station

that I've spent most of my life

tuned into alone

sending out cryptic messages

like a shortwave numbers station

waiting for someone

to decode me

but all anyone ever hears

eventually

it's just nonsense.

unsent

these neverending conversations

in my head are driving me insane

I wrote it out

chopped into digestible fragments

wrung my head into sad little words

which can't show this whole universe

whirling round but contained inside

sitting by maddeningly quiet

at ten, when there's no one to tell

for four more hours

when I'll decide it's too much

hold onto my beautiful dreams

and sleep. 

I apologize for this poem in advance

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

I've been a broken fucking record

my entire life

this is all my fault

what did I do wrong

I'm so sure

it's me

it's always me

I apologized to a man

in the grocery store

the other day

he was standing in the aisle

while I was turning my cart

around a corner

he said

DON'T APOLOGIZE

TELL ME TO GET OUT OF THE DAMN WAY

which made me smile

because

yeah

dude was in my damn way. 

firefly

I just saw a firefly

in the daylight

like a fish

out of water

its light useless

in the face of the sun

but still flying

still alive

waiting for the dark

to shine

anybody listening?

the weight of this world

the volume of thoughts

must be felt outside

the confines of my head

can you not hear

how loud 

my dreams are

I've been singing 

the same song

for centuries

surely you've noticed 

by now

how I broadcast 

every emotion

on a secret station

no one can find

how I scream

desperate poems

in my sleep

how I leave it all

unsaid

because it's being said

constantly

on repeat

through my eyes/breath/pores

how can no one hear me

New music

Discovering a song

Which leads to an album

Which leads to more

Feels much like

Discovering a kindred spirit

And falling in love

Without first wondering how

To get your foot in their door

To find their beautiful secrets

All you have to do

Is press play. 

fuck this fucking poem

Capturing a feeling

In words

When the emotion is just

Irrational rage

Is just

Stupid. 

I want to choke

Every letter I write