Life Whispers
Life is embryonic
growing as you dance.
Inhale deeply
breaths of life.
Follow your course
where it takes you.
Throw away
imprisoning rules,
feel feathers
against skin.
Ride that horse
that life creates,
drink deep the night.
Embrace the light,
straighten bent lilies,
explore prisms of sun
filtering into your life.
Wipe your teardrops
off the time awaiting,
stretch your hands
to touch the clouds.
Paint your life
with your footprints,
hear the sounds
of yesterday.
Catch fleeting
whisper of life
before it’s gone.
Last Letter
Dear Sun,
I remember you saying you don't want to stay in the East. Perhaps your days working as a dental hygienist aren't as sunny as they are made out to be. Though I do remember you saying that you want to create healthier mouths for healthier smiles...
You said that you are lonely. Others have their friends and families orbiting so close to themselves. You only have yourself...at the moment. Why not get yourself out there and get to know more people? They can't all believe that the universe revolves around them...
My days are being sliced off...I still do take the medicine, but it's not working so well. My eyes are constantly filming over and that shaking still does its terrible dance through my body. Betty is off to Australia, working for a charity she has always dreamed of serving. That small plot of land in Urswelle will need to be sold soon and this house needs a new roof and a new coating. Though I still believe that you should be exploring the world, it would lay that anxious part of me to rest if you can visit more often.
Remember, you are the brightest star in my eyes. You can take your orb to shine for so many others. And this doesn't have to be light. It can be blazing passion.
Please write soon. I wait for your good news.
Father
Dear Santa (with love)
Dear Santa,
Bring me a hint
just one small clue as to who
I should spend the rest of my life with.
See, dear Santa, you have your lover.
And I have been tossed though wind and storm of a dozen empty hearts
searching for a warmth that was not intended for me.
And I
Oh well I grow tired of it.
Have you ever loved like I do?
Have you pulled your heart out of your chest, thrust it at the boy
or girl
you have fallen deeply in love with
just to see them drop it.
And expect you to be fine.
I want love.
And I don't care that you cannot gift wrap my perfect person and
set them under the tree.
That's way too easy.
I just want one tiny hint.
A piece of a poem
Once upon a time,
I deemed my heart too heavy,
a cumbersome burden so
I ripped my own heart out of my chest and
fed it to a beast.
When he was done, I picked up the scraps he rejected
found them to be too light.
I followed the beast to collect what bits might fall
from his mouth.
I got lost along the way
Paradox Lost
Mixer in the afternoon
alright, on my third
but outside the Sun is frying
everything in its touch
everything regarding the city suffers
a famous, commercial writer once said
never place your desk in front of a window
sitting here now in the early afternoon
frontal lobe joggled just enough
head change
ice at the bottom of a glass
sings as sweetly as Simone with
the right timing
watching the tip of the mountain
burn from my window while I write
take advice from no one
if it goes against your gut
ignore and avoid kept men
with soft hands
in weak imitation of the greats
ignore their cries for attention
and self-promotion
while they use age as a gauge for
wisdom while their
wives fold their clothes for them
in the next room
which overlooks a tiled den
and a gorgeous yard
ignore the bullshit
to simply survive is not enough
while outside the mountain burns
and your words hit the page
with force
the reward is doing it
the reward is in the lift of heart
those of us who have made a living off
the writing will tell you it’s
a long and brutal fucker of a climb
but a climb with each second worth
more than a life
avoid the circles of trash, stench, and low-flying resilience
aspire to money for contentment
but be driven by neither
accept to banish
abolish to embrace
don’t place faith in
the existence of things you
cannot see
but place it in things
you know must be there
laugh at the sorrow
while the sorrow eats you
and outside the mountain burns
and sheds rocks like tears
the Sun disfigures dream
the life of us gripped
in the fist
of our own surrender
of fear
but spiked with moments
of unfathomable joy
of moments combined
in memory
that becomes our fortress and gate
our Mars and Pompeii
our sunlight, Liszt, and metal
our poets, singers, thespians, and
criminals of war
all the love inside
trapped but burning
beneath all the anger, waiting
beneath the unfathomed greatness
built in
moment to moment
the buzz gripping the mind
the time running out in this poem
before I start sounding like one of them
and feeling the oddly warm comfort
when you become what you despise
sitting here in the early afternoon
the dead men on my shelves
the dead women on my shelves
the dead-eye stare of a mountain
on fire
weeping across the desert west to
California
where I know beauty
must be waiting
while I sit here writing
ugly in desert
officially drunk
while the mountain burns
and laughs
at my stupid
fucking
face.