You gallup-giggle, splash through the Suds, a lump of fresh soap bubbles the finest joy this side of the Delaware river ; something profane transcended in the plastic blue body of your flying dolphin, soaring through this afternoon’s ocean – our own barrier reef in the bathroom – leaping, this dolphin as he flies towards patchwork tan tile – the wildest adventure in the neighborhood — screech shout and slosh about ;; now mush muddle and flop about ; now Donnie the dolphin floats effortlessly towards the triumph of the steel spout , sugar spice and everything meaningful — now swirling, now submerging, now surfacing – the sight; the singing sounds of so much important work being done
To release the wheels ; to let myself release ; to wade into the muck of an uncertainty – to feel the spring bud all around you towards the starlight – i can do most anything inside of the spring ; I can withstand most anything inside of the marsh of the madness of March – the drooping tendrils of April and the fiery blossom sun of May –– I can do most anything / I can let my tapping fingers set themselves down / I can see new pathways, break all habits, forge new patterns, look at my time not like a metronome but like a ball of wild weeds cunningly spitting up from the Earth ; I can be the crazed bud season – I can pull myself towards the rooted structures that feed the banks of the canal ; the wild lettuce growing in patches out of the mud ; the air so filled with the smells of birth – no death rattling through the air anymore – the endless, endless chime of more than enough time to possibly know what to do with ;; what riveting birth
A wave of creative hum ; the slight smile at the end of the big Dipper dipping into the old world ; the ocean of timelessness – adolescent wish me knots and time worth tasting on the tip of your tongue – days worth wasting stacked on top of one another , making a selection of fossils waiting to one day be admired , millennia in the future
If this is all I had of my life , this would have been enough – these 20 some odd years ; the piles of sweet summer days hunkered beneath my left knee ; the traces of spring afternoons laced into my tibia ; my DNA will sing of blissful captures ; moments ratcheted into my brain cells ; hunks of breath laced into my lungs ; the best tasting laughter ; the medicine of always more – the growing towards creating – the moving towards the NeverEnding coming / if this is it, this was enough / I am grateful for this / I will always be grateful for these years I have lived so blissfully / and if we walk towards despair , towards economic depression , I am not afraid of what loss I will live through – this has been enough already , and the gratitude of my limbs reaching towards the yellow road lines paved down the street – the aching twist of freedom , that I got to run at all , that I got to stand inside of crowds of people and feel the energy of oneness at all , that I got to be doused in the rain in a concert sprinting through the all of us , that I got to race down the highway laughing with friends , fumbling into party , stumbling into bar , curled up in a sleepover , warped through a meadow, a bunch of people lying in the grass strumming some guitar , wading through some soft river , adventuring with strangers – that I got to do any of these things at all – that my body got to be blessed with all of these adventures ; all of these theatre’s , all of these casts , all of these strange creations with people I didn’t know who then became family , that I got to camp , that I got to trust any stranger next to me – who could ask for any more than this ;; I hope against hope for Jamie, that he will get to experience , that he will get to grow and unfurl ; and whatever children I have yet to be a part of ;; no answers anymore , just more questions stacked on top of one another ; but I will be there and I will be fearless , and I will try and try again to remember my fearlessness no matter how many times I forget, or misplace it, or place it on top of another person, I am always this fearless, this strong, this hopeful
How do I live in service ; how do I live in joy ; how do we all live in community and giving and thanks and gratitude and awe of the incredible planet we inhabit — I can finish my words and I can hope that they speak to someone , I can be a good mother , I can be kind to friends , selfless, without vanity, aware of what feeds jealousy, pain and self comparison , I can be honest with myself and with others , I can be vulnerable and show that as an example – how we never need to be afraid of our own hearts – our only beating everythings ; I can be myself and show that we always can feel comfortable in our own skin / what if this is the dream come true in the strangest form possible : not violent revolution or bloody upheaval or confused economic battling but finally, finally the mother Earth itself spitting up and attacking back – a purging no less violent than the cross-cutting of a forest fire – for the way all things must die in order to make room for the next – the way the Earth always cleanses itself ; knows how to cleanse itself ; what if it isn’t the death but the upheaval ;; what if we show without a doubt that we are all one – beyond border, Nation, language, religion / what if it is proven as clear as day / what if the economy has to flip on its head simply because it has to respond / what if this is the earth responding and we have to respond back / but if it is always a little bit of chaos and a little bit of divinity and a little but of everything else, what if it is the chime of a beating heart / an antibody that rejects toxicity ; what if this is transformation and inherent universal catalyst it has to happen; beyond blame and what if what it shows is that humans are better than we ever give them credit for – that creativity and living and inhabiting our bodies is absolutely vital to our health and happiness ; that getting outside and communing and being together is what our bodies crave ; that we will help each other rather than compete against one another in our nature ; and that economic redistribution is what we truly truly need in order to combat crises and in order to live in a sustainable way ; what if we learned to dig our fingers into the soil and recognize that we are all interconnected and that we must seek joy and bliss over anything else // springtime lightraya shining through any and all pains / the buds that always come back – call us out of our skin – they call us out of our boxes and the useless competition we place on the other / the useless ascent towards profit , towards progress , towards accomplishing nothing at all , but we lack the recognition of the everyday grace of inhabiting a body ; inhabiting this world and sharing community with one another / but if we remember that — if we have to remember that — what if we necessarily have to follow upheaval where it will take us — and where will it take us
that house isn’t even blue anymore; it’s white now ; our scraps of memories tossed into the lake – the fresh scent of paint an everlasting reminder that the season comes again ; but the season does not stop tapping at the window ; and my reticent piles of privilege sit around me, just minutes from Trenton and we all find it so easy to sit and gaze at our new paint job and marvel at what wonders feel new and never wrap our hands around to the injustice of space topography geography and the geology of hierarchy which pummels our streets, our laid-bare foundations ; our tread-fast towns set next to one another ; blind eye after blind eye so normalized to the stratification – the sharp angles that twitch in statistics – the high schools stretch towards ivy league acceptance and the high schools just 15 minutes away where danger is an ever-present thrust // the revolution that needs to come, the rotating cries, a revolution that never ends through history ; hail back through the ages – an endless shuttering cry to be seen to not have a blind eye turned / we don’t want to see, we don’t want to know, we don’t want to have to care, we want to keep glorifying our own bloody hands / Lady Macbeth, teach us how to give a shit that we have blood on our hands at all – give us the awareness that we should even try to wash our hands clean ; because endlessly, endlessly we seem as if we are not even aware of the crimson stains — out damned motherfucking spot of endless corruption greed inequality – out damned motherfucking spot – and moreso, pluck my eyes out that I need not even know, let me equivocate and balance hate and radiate through my own fear that we should even ask for anything more – let me be so terrified of a specter that I somehow condition myself to believe that to ask for more is a foolish game.