My heart aches now in a way that I don’t think could ever be truly expressed. My soul beats for you one beat after another and it never ends. It never begins and it never swallows itself it just slides. it just simmers….I just squeals and slides away and away and away. Time to sleep now. The rest of me is with you. And you are my heart. 

 

Noah’s arc, but we all get in the ocean and float to the end of the world

to the next world

to the world just beyond us, before us and between us. To the between. 

Now we’re going to fall apart

now we’re going to plan to rewrite

to re-scratch the screech 

the clunk, the tires plunking out of the sidewalk

 

 

You don’t walk. You glide

you slide, you slither you burn silver in the back of my mind

 

 

You didn’t walk into my life

you ran. sprinted- fast and firm

heaving and spluttering you redefined definition

 

 

 

 

 

i keep having this recurring dream that i’m really here. that it’s all really here. clear and concise and dropped out of space. out of time. out and up and through and before…the clacking and clucking of old lots round moments. of cultures and cobwebs and miserable tastes in your head.

 

i say, bring me the motion. the trust and the triumph. bring me the rain, to resistance of your brain.

 

 

 

 

but then comes the poetry

soft and ligneing and always and always just pouring, popping pilfering and trusting.

i followed the hills, i shot stardust through all the thrills

the sugar runnig through my skin judges me

 

 

people start sweating sugar

 

listen, look, the whole world slides away when you let it

the whole world peels backwad when you purse your lips and blow through the circumfrence of a square

all i see is the tetrahedron of your face, glistening, purple and wide.

 

at some point i dissolved awake. at some point it finally all made sense. sitting here on this tiny wooden swing outside this house. this magic house. this healing house. i knew all at once and all at last that i knew nothing at all. my mom whispered slowly and sweetly as she passed out the door…she said write your story. she said write your story. she said feel the june bugs littering the backyard, remember the laughter pounding off the sculpture of this grass. remember this weeping willow and the secret magic is holds, will always hold. there are no goodbyes in the world. just transformations and lost and founds and hidings and secrets and mysteries. things uncovered, things revealed, things mystical and senseless. i’m going to australia to write this story. i cannot tell it here, it is the story that is inside of me that has been writing itself since the beginning of tie. the story that moves through me and with me and to the end of my days will never be finished. it  is the moment and the mystery and the movement of the stars. it is the way this backyard looks. 

 

i wish you earth and birth and all things weightless and full of gravity. i wish you love and luck and rebellion. i wish you bright fiery days where the sun slips under your shirt and i wish you dark and stormy nights where your shoe laves tie themselves backwards. i’ll miss your birthdays, your days of horrible disfiguration, the heartbreak and attack of month after month of confusion, delusion and creation. i wish you art. i wish you fire. i wish you passion. i wish your tree house would stand forever, withstanding the magic of the night sky and the fire of the rainbow clouds. iw ish you endless childhood. i wish you a small eternity with which to make your own wishes on. i wish i could watch you grow up, silently, sweetly and with only the best parts removed. i wish i could take the swing with me, my box of memories and i wish i could take them out and stare at them.

 

the late night peanut butter filled oreos and the time solomon mason scaled the back wall of my house and let himself in by the roof door to coe see me at 3am. the teenage rebellion and how you somehow survive it. don’t smother your kids, don’t take that fire out from underneath them- that is the only thing that fuels our humanity and wil keep us safe when we have forgotten our truth. remember and remember and forte. dissolve and dream and feel the soul of solid walls bouncing you back and forth like a great lightbulb. write without any expectation. write with abandon. love with ferocity. dance with your whole heart in your hands. smile with your skin folded under your eyes. dedicate yourself to a lifetime of love.

 

just mid morning sun and rain, a circus in your brain and all the words that no longer belong to you

that want to want

that need to loosen themselves out on the banks of the shore

on the cusp of your creation

on the curt-tails of your cobwebbed curtains.

 

i didn’t watch the sunrise, but we felt it, hankering over the house, glowing with a suffused glow, sputtering out glowing star juice, just dappled enough to destroy all remnants of night fear. i can feel the twists of spine and turpentine the way this tree gravitates over our porch. i can feel the swell of secret bird song and the sound of aching sunrise leaves lingering over our star-strewn blanket of grass. i can feel and i can peel away the layers that leave me lonely and lustful. full of the force of time and space. full of of the fumbling hands of grace. i am lonely with my love of the planet.  

Oh dear God let me write

let me sit inside a clod of clay and crackle open my conundrum

let me weave together my woven bits of burning blue bottles and

poke it with a stick, stick it with a ball of creation, create it with a soft 

burning feather unhinge it with a hoop full of harkened hopscotch hangers

 

 

love just love

let me listen to love and tingle my fingers at just the right spectrum of light

let me glow and grieve and receive

let me return and rehash the trash that is my treasure trove of truth and tunes and 

turnequette breath

amphibian fibrous roots

 

 

and these are my qualms of the state of the world.

no one take the time to time themselves anymore

and no one wins themselves to themselves 

and no one wanders trhought e dusty murky muck of the moon for hours on end 

just to find themselves sitting on the edge of a porch (which really should be a porch swing)

 

 

 

i dreamed i was a dream worth dreaming and a horse worth chugging and a source of force malevolent ad exquisitely kind

 

we live in a world of colors dreams, of livid white sheets of squeals and streams and in big bags of broken open boldnesses, perfect prides and powerful premisses

 

oh fuck yes, this is the birthday of the born again moon this is the circumference of the narrow and boldly emblazoned star beam, moon beam, let me be free from these shackles of shining white feet. 

 

magnetically across the mirrorbed of our motorcar magnificence

 

 

 

no more words now. no more tinkerings on the thinkerings. no more lullabies and criss crossed goodbyes. this is the time for rain, for the forces of the forest to unleash. for the solstice of our souls to trance out of the skin of the earth. 

 

and no one is awake. i don’t mean awake i mean AWAKE and then somehow everyone is. all at once, all the time, all the thrythm and all the rhyme cannot keep me away from myself. cannot rip the shreds and bones off of m throne. cannot will not i am. i am always a little pace of the moon of my dreams of my dreaming.

 

I have to tell you. What i’VE SEEN, WHAT HAS SEEN ME…AND WHERE AND why and YOU ask me what I’ve done, what’ve been up to

what have I been up to? watching patches of green shadow sunlight  fall in jagged lines and harsh oblivion across the sides of my car. i’ve felt the sweet and tangy ripeness of berries bursting back and forth between color and love inside my tiny trembling fingers. i’ve delt the moon rise and set across this holden horizon sky. i’ve watched a team of seizing fireflies light up a wonder wheel of beauty, flying through the air singing songs of summer. i have fallen asleep in the mimd morning light after watching my brother smuggle home at 4am. i have wandered aimlessly through streets with my mother, John Mayer playing softly in the background as we try yet again to not discuss the fact that I’m leaving her. I’ve made the decision to leave home…and i’m running on faith and ferocity and a burning truth buried deep in my chest. the voice is so strong and so silent that i can’t even find it or place it anywhere…but i know deeper than deep the it is there. and i have faith and i have summer. and the season changes because we all change. because life is light is love is magic. and here’s to magic opening and birthing and rebirthing. To rebirth. To magic. To the summer solstice. To the longest day of the year. To just the just the just the beginning.

 

i speak backwards today…through the stomach of my soul…through the radiance of the moon, through the thoroughly thrusting young caterpillar of truth that was falling, falling i am always falling, always catching myself always alwaysing more and more of myself and less and less of what i think i don’t need what i think i need is the strangest thing but what the universe says is more and less and find and filter and follow and listen and truth, truth will sing the song of forever upon your aged and lifted brow. truth will hope and truth will out 

 

to remember to awaken to rebirth to see to see to see to open your eyes to the glowing golden light that surrounds and sustains you. to have your heart ripped out of your shoulders and replaced with foggy

 

and of all the moments in my life that have transformed themselves into magnets and arrows and masterful memory clods of clay. i remember the toyota truck, the sticky yogurt sliding down my skin in the summer heat. i remember sitting in a golf cart in the rain eating a luna bar and praising the mountain before me. i remember taking the boys up the mountain, hearing nothing in my soul but the sounds of the summit and the boys complaining that there was nothing to do. i remember the girls with perfect muscles sculpting their bodies our of clay and salad works. i remember the community, the group of peole together at last at once at finally, finally. i remember the wilderness of lightning bugs glowing in the trees. i remember picking black currants at midnight on the summer solstice. i remember this gorgeous couple, young youthful and giving, showing me the world i’ve been dreaming of. showing me that it’s possible. 

how often does the wind blow how does the fire flow how do my feet meet up with my legs with my crinkles and patterns in my head with my rolling tucking trolling tinker toy of a mess

 

of a mess

of a day

of all the things I’ve dreamed i’ve done today

or tomorrow or somewhere in-between

the writing comes out in gleams and gasps

the wringing out of old letters and syllables comes dreary and dropping

comes silver and salacious

 

 

i sat there, by the rocks, by the trees, by the world of cane sugar and wind

and i breathed and i panted and i wound up my mind and settled my soul

and listened.

and listened.

and loved.

 

my monologue, my decadence, my deco-dance, my wild entrance to the eggbeater of the bleeding, bleating white drum of the sky. my deliverance, my delirium, my dead dog dreamer.

Drink from the pool of art around you.

nothing and everything and everything again. the soul of your soul of your soul exists not merely within your body, but within every cell that bounces between this jumble of consciousness and the huge vast breath of the breadth of the universe that spreads expands like herculean lungs and sends shivers down the silvery spines of all that stands, shouts, reaches towards the beginning and the end and the ultimate, unending union we are, have and have been. we are the reaching. the unending feeling. we are the nonsense mongery. the word beyond all the words. the trust beyond all truths.
we are rooted, we are flying we are fleeting and we are everything and nothing. we are hungry and we are raining like every last word we are. listen to the words, to the intention, to the direction of directionless floating and flopping.

i’m going to live in a world one day where everybody gets it. where everyone is chilled to the bone and ripped to the point of shouting with ecstasy. i’m going to live in a time where time is felt, breathed, satiated and left wide open and heaving. i’m going to be surrounded by people who live on the edge of their minds- constant creators who give birth to new thoughts in the morning and dwell on possibility in the evening. i’m going to live with people who would never dream of missing that elusive moment when the first evening star pokes its head out of the great wandering veil of the sky. i’m going to chew, digest, become the very essence of a wave that is constantly crashing. i’m going to awake and run as fast as i can through the hills of glowing lavender, the wild meadows of untamed heather, and up through the trees growing solid and unchanging.

 

this world will change. explode, dissolve, evolve, collapse. i know it i feel it i believe it and i need it. i need it. 

 

and yet at some unbearable truth, i find that i’m alright. finally, finally. i can live in this world. because i can find those peaceful evolutions happening within the fabric of this slowly churning river. i can see the faces of strangers tilting upwards towards the sky. i can feel the soft renewal of the hope that beats through blood vessels. i exhale and my little bits of today are cascading into silent shelves of leaves. 

 

and is it enough? is it ever enough? when will we know when it is complete? is it possible to complete. to reach the end of human evolution? to be all that we can be. to reach the venter of the universe, turn around and gaze outward? forever outward? bounce our radar eyes off the filmy skin that holds the edges of the universe together? approach that great wide net and see it all- projected in a thousand frequencies of sacred light- all that is all. and to know the shape of things abounding. is it possible? is that truly a goal worth grasping? is it possible to live in that silent wonder? to know our names and sing them proudly? unafraid and unabashed. 

 

i will get somewhere. i will get where i’m going. i will grow where i am flowing and i will 

 

but the thing that it is is the thing that it’s not. we have this thought and those thoughts and piles of pure dream thought. we have 

 

such trench warfare, such deep resistance to the sound of being alive
such rainy afternoons locked stuck inside the pages of pounding droplets of fear.

let the life come through you. let the world drip fascinating rivulets of rivers of birth and life through your skin. let the words write you let the air speak your wind through your breaking muffled ribcage. get alive, get awake, get aware. get loose and wild and mad and forceful like a pounding resonance of thunder. get round and shapely and fermented and earthy. get muddy get gone get grounded get your head inside the stardust and your feet inside the magma core of the earth. get your grass all over your body like arm hair and little remnants of every thought that has ever pulsed through the clouds. get watery and wishing and wells of weird whimsical longing. get ferocious and vigorous and timeless. get green and gold and colorless and creamfilled- bursting at the seams with seemingness and the sighs of surrender to the sound of the surplus of serenity. get into and out of yourself at the same time. get into the notes, the rhythm, the music…but most importantly…into the SOUND of it. into the resonance of it as the music experiences you experiences it. get into the taste of your tongue against the tulip of time. get into the rose colored wind of knowing absolutely nothing and everything in the same cloudy clod of a breath. get fragmented and foolish. get grey and old and withered and see the world from atop the perching purple mountain of perennial wisdom. get youthful and burning with vivacious virtue and vibrations of love and light. get everything through the earth of your body. get growing. get air in your lungs and fire in your brain and eyes up your sleeves so that you can see with the whole of your body. feel through your spine. 

It’s only a matter of time. A matter of measureless mindfoam. A minute miracle mineral named matter. Mine the mind. Mind the minefield name time. Wrap the rain around the rhythm of your brain. Drain the silence that strains you through the thorough into the threadless, the sweet serene bottle of breathlessness. The fire of fiercelessness.

Anticipate the ancillary, artillery of your arteries awakening up inside a blossoming field of burning white hot ash. Of billowing curls of divine sliding trash.

I see the star shine in the trees. I fill my cup of wonder up with fresh ashy embers of life, swelter them, swim in them, and let my skin fill up with soul, squeeze myself out over the sidewalks of the glimmering streets of stunted home vision and I stand back- stare at the tracks in the concrete and wonder whether I am made of metal or made of mind or made of matter or simply seabrine. Or is it truly that celestial center of the rainbow named time.

I am part of my own great whimsical wonderland. I am practicing wheeling out like a top, tipping out my truth and gathering up more torturous tongues of taste. I taste the dream.

Drag the magic out of your spine, its sitting waiting, sipping a cup of hot sea.

what madness is this? what driveling, sweating mongrels have we become that we forget the tune of our own singing? that we beget what the moon remembered? that we lose the diamond-hearted trust of the swelling cosmic dance of the stars that carved our shapes out of slivers of silver asteroid breath? what cowering country of cowards have given rise to this slimy new decade of disease, disaster and discontentment? where has the wind blown from? from what enchanted portal have we closed our own doors and huddled our masses into our own great green grasses now drying to yellow, gold and grey. flecked with puny impudence, what ignorance has laid this great soul soldier to rest? who are we to neglect the thorny river of the moon?

 

and trust and trust and trust the seething, scarring universe as is casts you down and around through the murk and the mayhem of the slinking caverns of chaos and connection that it wants to dream you into. and believe and breathe into the mess of twisting tunnels of force that want to crack open your spleen and twist body around your brain. and soar through the floating heights of heroic dance and dream that your life will always be, for one infinite instant, a breath of absolute aliveness. and follow that aliveness all the way back through awareness, to awakeness…back to rebirth.

his round rubber image is rocking through my robbing mind.
words they come from the undergarments in my underground lair, my flair for something that’s there, not here. not anywhere but all at once.
the race of flying colors, they persist not in time, but in the jagged jingle
of the laughter of sense.

not in me, but in the reflection of me, laced around the living room. tucked inside the birth brown earth clown. knowing the music has changed. listening to the range of rolling rage. pittering out the patterns of persistent presence. saying i want to wantless now. roll roll roll toil trouble and bubble.

oh then just pulse through the words. then just remember that you are never a rememberance of anything but truth.

i was 14. i couldn’t hold on. i felt his hand slip out of my fingers and i saw this glowing shape morph endlessly into the bubbles and gurgles of a slurping, swollen sea. he floated for a moment, then dissolved into a silver stream of appalling light. he felt and flew and i knew and nearly knocked my knowledge out of the newness. i was dissolving spaiously into soundless horror and he was drifting away on the edge of despair. fire fire fire ignite my bones and let my little icicle heart stream back to the edge of possibility. let me know the future again. let me feel the past between my toes. let me revolve back to the revolution of age and agelessness. let me surrender my soul to the sound of science. let me control and contrive and revive this lifeless corpse of contradiction and courage. no words, just the word no escaping my barely audible, barely shape-abe, barely breathing little liquid lips half frozen to the bottom of my nose. my sweat dripping through my skin in shapes and sorrows, in drips, drops and drowning dregs of despair.

slice slice, whittle and distort. contort and contrive. speak the data, the rational realization of the radiator of release.

 

this is the story, this is the one i’m saying to you. this is the day, this is the expression of the express train through my mind to your soul. this is how the world began to bubble, under a beaker, tipping over and touching the sound of the sand, each breath one right after another, coming up across the fetal formation of foundational fragments. this is how it felt. it felt like bubbling pink and blue and white-washed air of marmalade mandarin movements of mythological moments. it felt like heaving and healing and a great wound being sorted and sordid and surviving.

and then you flowed backwards. and then time flipped on its head, twisted on its red silver strings and saturnized its sacred, sacrificial heart. pounded its grounded flesh out onto the sundial that gave it form and cocked its crawling head out of the corners of captivity. we caged this little dribbling dragon and poked and prodded its precious pearly skin long enough and fast enough that it surrendered to the sound of a strange and senseless ticking. The burning, boiling beast and all its burdens and feathers and floating fears condesend, consolidated and coagulated into a crusty, cracked narrowing direction. all the possible breaths it wanted to want fell around in shadows and streaks and slimey wet sadnesses. The body burnished its beauty and belonged to its own banishment. The bones brittled, and the grief gutters, the broken bowls and the howling hungers all hurried and harrowed and narrowed saying finally, with one gasping growl- forward.  

all liguid dreams began to lock themselves into lists. all sweet serene seas of cerebral soundscapes surrendered themselves to the scratching and screeching of the slamming sections of the

 

broadened. surprised and surmised. surrounded and impounded. crouched and cuddled and curdled and carnivorous clam shells, egg shell slamming and door fire inquirers. fresh winter snow caked under my nebulous nails. the nails and the pails and the jack and jill jangle jingling all the way. jumble jacket and juniper july jogging your memory under the mind misery.

 

what is in my brain what is tossing in the rain
the explanation of the exploration of the expression of extra-terrestrial terrain of torture and terror and timeless tracks of turning tucked tickling worlds and words of wind and winds of wide open windows to wonder and wizzened weird wildabeasts beating bundles of bumble bee trees under the core of the apple barrel brine.

little old hardass. playing hardball. slamming big chunks of coal dust in the round wet wilderness.

we all grabbed our brains by the bobblehead and tossed them into the sea. we all took out our nerve endings and exploded them inside our exploratory

coal coal, do the dance find your hard footed prance among the stars
the appetite of the rain, the twisted soothing energy of
your mine field, the strikes the sounds the burning hounds.

 

 

 

 

i can’t find the foot, i can’t ride the root of all raging, oh its there its inside the words the wordscome from the universe from the sound of the shape of the silence of the music within me i can hear it and maybe it wont get here now or later or linger or lists of lanuage of lipids or love it is wonder it is wishness it is dreams within dreams within freedom within joy within i am finding within i am joying and enjoying and banging and listeninging and cornbread control it contrive it concoct is like a construct of connetion the words lead no where but everywhere my name is everything i know nothing

then i let go again.

and connecting the connector cables, the rewritten fables, the untempered charts of hearts and flows and measurements of minute temperatures. dinner table debates and races of rushing ringlets of repentance and collaboration and connection and all the ways words fit together, lace their little droplets of skin together and run.



i found the paper essence sitting there. that little fact of futuristic truth that had been gazing at me through all my dribbled inquiries. i saw the name, what the name meant, and who’s face was attached to that name somewhere else in time and space. i spit, i choked, i slobbered my soul down the front of my petticoat. i coughed and i cracked and i saw for a moment all moments i had ever believed in turning to ashdust and cloudrain and curvatures of phonecalls not made, never heard. forceless neurons fragmenting in space, wanting to be a part of a body, wanting to be a part of an emotion, but more so and less so just drifting so. just hanging in space. i felt my faith fall out of my fingers and a big bubble of bursting belief blowing through my brain. i lost the loose ties and tongued my tortured vocal chords- trapping them long enough that they might remember how to sing again. to speak, to make a sound. to shout endlessly this radiating, rotating field of emotion through my lungs. but nothing came. just sight and sound and unconnected syllables of sentience and senselessness. i could not find the spinal cord of sound that so often connected my brain to my bowels and my speech to my soul. my words were among the wordless now. the worlds of spinning weaknesses.