86


when my nature –
a terrible, disappointing
nature –
finally reveals itself
for all to see, i shall be

devastated.

i shall be frank
i shall see…

me.

i shall see me
for what i am,
for what i have always been
and always will be.

i shall see me,
the true me…

a me i’ve never wanted to see.

no lies,
nothing left to veil my eyes
and nothing to say
what isn’t true.

i shall be
that which is most frighteningly
me.

in that recognition,
i will persist

but because i am broken
i will continue to break…
in a thousand different ways,
i will break.

but i am me.
that much is true.

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№ 85


let it never be said
that this life is anything
but interesting…
despite its apprehensions,
misadventures, and moments
of sheer panic…

despite its periods of drudgery,
of seemingly endless monotony
that make you want to scream with insanity,
S T O P

remember, think:
with introspection
comes wonder, awe
at how easily such trivialities
are made pleasant, brokered, and folded
into the story that is you;
with introspection
comes open eyes,
that you might see the glory of that chaos,
that you might know such perfect stillness,
harmony in balance.

let it never be said
life isn’t the best damn story
you’ve ever heard

№ 84


disquieted enthusiasm
was the nature of my demeanor
while reflecting upon my fate

and all the while
did i think,
“how odd, how odd,
where’s the uncertainty?”

and constricted, constrained
by simple, unwavering devotion,
did i feel, noting the nature
of my plans….

№ 81


.               pairing our time
. .             with the slow, steady cycle
.               — winter, spring, summer,
. .             fall –; watching the world
.               drift in and out
. .             of shadow; from dusk
.               until dawn, fingers interlaced
. .             and alive
.
. .               in our now
.             we feel the tender
. .               burden of passion
.             and pleasure, the tumult
. .               of unspoken fears,
.             so clearly, so wholly…
. .               all so easily
.
. .
.
. .
.
. .            on it goes,
.               the ticking.
. .
.
. .            it reminds us:
.               every moment is ours;
. .            every shadow sees the light
.
. .
.
. .
.
. .
.
. .

№ 80: journey


this life,
my life;
a turning point
for all the world to see

how subtle
were the signposts
on the road that led to here

how many
were the moments
i could have lost my way

my life
in a flash,
framed by the images
of all that is to come

of all the interesections,
forks, bends, u-turns, and wrong-ways
i have navigated
on my way to now

№ 79 (sheet-metal melody)


do you remember
our first song:
rain
upon sheet-metal roofing?

— such a sweet sound,
our song —

i think we kissed
to it
(in my mind),
your lips, your body
pressed to mine

and didn’t we dance
round and round
(in my dream),
heads sheltered, hearts open,
hoping?

i think we did,
and our song played

— such a sweet song,
and how it plays

№ 71


i sometimes linger
on little phrases,
character sequences
custom-built to please
the searching heart,
the open mind;
i linger
on words:
pretty words and horrid words
and words to end all words,
like lightning in
proverbial bottles
set to loose
whatever mayhem i desire;
i linger
on patterns:
patterns of up-down, side-to-side,
back-and-forth, and nowhere-patterns-of-a
symmetric absurdity,
because i like them;
i linger
on flow:
the undercurrent,
the feeling of those
half-constructed,
half-discovered-out-of-the-blue
layers whose little pieces
mean little
beyond the here-and-now
of the finished page

and sometimes, when
i’m feeling guilty, i linger
a little longer than i should