Periods of transition bring so much womb.

I am just not convinced that I am getting all that I need–

Oh, but thank you for your political stance.

I will not hide who I am.

Fear! I still feel it coarsening through my veins,
Because, because…certain turns need to be feared.

Brazen outrage begs one to be shot down.
It is so disruptive. 
Everybody prefers a soft touch, until…

there is no other option.

I ask myself what it means to do anything at all if nothing matters

which simply isn’t true.

I have an affinity for standing down
and then standing up so fast again that I go dizzy.
I panic from the disorient and then I remember
I am in love with nothing unless it is you–
or so I tell myself on a bad day.

Notice how the seasons change…
They always change.
It is their imagery that remains persuasive.
And everything else that comes with it.

And then the wave comes and drowns it all out, just as cyclically as everything else.
It comes in, knocks me over,
shows me I am dying;
only to be reborn again.

The greatest truth that I know is the truth of the wave.
My friends are the ones who believe it to be true, too.
We always remain in kind.

In some round about way you taught me that. In fact, you taught me that in your predictable leaving.
But so what, I am human too.
I love the things that love me, and I love the ones that hurt me too.

I love the way the air has taught me how to breathe 
I love the way the wave has taught me how to leave
the way that is has stripped the air from my lungs,
washed my insides out,
with that one simple truth it left behind…

In the quiet aftermath of the swell
The only fact that persisted through it all is that
I love you in the morning
I love you in the evening
I love you when when I am not loving you
I love you when the wave comes crashing down
and when I am vomiting the water out from my lungs.
I love you in my rebirth, and in my eventual death too.

I have no idea where you live or if your heart beats on.
I know nothing of you, or of your life.
All I know is this.

I love thinking about
thinking

thoughts to tear the ground up
thoughts to dissolve everything
in time, for the next appeal

to authority about
which way to go

oh I’m just biding time
until my next oasis

don’t tell me that is isn’t here anymore
because what are all these thoughts for
if not for hope, for the
next coping trip

I         

 am just trying         

to hold           

a particular              

kind of silence.

I chug time back like a vagabond in a desert; paradise is the minutes and hours of Nothing. Nothing–the happiest place–still something–before then, time spent worried about nothing–it is incredible all the years spent in fear when every moment unfolds with the slightest tug of the fingers. Only one needs to learn how to dig empty space, and then nothing becomes Nothing–the truth to some, a choice to others–and I would choose Nothing over and over again until nothing was left.

a simulated world

full of illusion

have you ever

experienced objectivity? have you?

***************

I’m tired of being the boring one at the party
But he once put drugs in my drink
and took me into the bathroom

violence

silence

I mean

Oh don’t get this confused
I too wish I stewed
in privileged thoughts about
what to do with my savings account

Instead,
please refrain from 
reminding me it’s Oct 3

Maybe the boring one at 
the party is the one 

with too many memories
to stay silent.

never not living the past
never not–never not

But pardon my trivialities
I think I interrupted 
the best part of the song

I was painting last night
red; all kinds of shades of red
I painted them in a sequence
Blood red, pinkish red
but I had a problem
I wasn’t sure how to fade…

I,
well bound to some kind of formal standard,
resist my own attempts to blend in.

maybe that’s why
I loathe the fact
that I keep seeing Rothkos.

I wanted to be anything that you weren’t so that you would need me
The choice to leave would not exist
Because what is the meaning
of a need...

Everything outside of it
    doesn’t
        matter