beautiful virus

The light turns buttery ; fringes through the branches ; curls light green at the edges ; the forest is sending postcards // today the stream is laughing awe-filled laughs;; each drop a silent memory released ;; the drip-drop humble hands, the tips of branches gone dry into the restless pool of water beneath it;; begs for something shallow , cool , irreverent ;; something to bathe itself in ; the coolness everywhere peels back the saturation , the vibrance , the funnel of summer colors that reach towards the endless blue ,, everything pulls away; pulls back in on itself; chlorophyll like a half remembered promise — passing through for today ; a cheat day today; the cheap linen cues cascading around the bushels of greenery like a half-assed acceptance / here and there the color windows / just here and there it seems it pulls back from the world / like a frozen lullaby , like a soft beautiful virus , metastasizing slowly , effortlessly [ with great ease ] no makeup, no care for presentation, just a bunch of old roots sending messages up the tree willy nilly – an optional RSVP at this point in the season,, a forged signature, a foraged bundle of new paints, a slow attempt at learning a new skill // fall never comes in the cascades of color pops that adorn some windows 97 screensaver;; it comes in oceanic waves, subtley, inconsistently – never quite fully satisfied or in cohesion across the forest, each little drummer beating its own autumn tune at its own pace — the natural drumbeat of release,, always somehow in tune with itself,, unplayable by me, far too many harmonies, this perfectly strung chord, impossible to replicate, just above sonically recognizable, but breaktaking to hear

Advertisements

skeleton

radioactive love, this mountain of moving music // the miles from my eyes to yours ;; the stretched distance which becomes thin upon listening / the curvature of sound which never makes it from my lips to yours / the desperation of angled skin cells ; hunting for one another ; like a desolate skeleton of love once-discarded ; always buried ; never burned ; ashen in cruelty ; and firmly, fearlessly;; still alive

mostly in the stomach

Terrible black magic this thing called Love ;; terrible white-hot heat this thing called heart — fire in the lungs, earthquake in the mind, terrible fascination , this rapture for romance — terrible trick of the light, these wide-eyed trusting eyes I have ,, terrible tricks of the light and dark ; terrible illusions the delusions of grandeur and points on the map hunting towards anything other than regret ; hopeless eyes, hopeless eyes, thundercrack goodbyes and all the promises to never keep


at first the pain was just too sharp to even write,, the edge began to peel off slowly — but the singe still feels hot to the touch and my insides are still a garbled bag of misplaced organs. heartbreak happens mostly in the stomach.

upstate ny

Upstate;; and the air turns crisp and crinkled at the edges; the hills turn green on their backs – roll over to the blue side – tumble through the cascading hillsides ;; we race the road to where the yellow line meets the side of the endless fog racing down the mountainside // Vermont air mapled and sunning itself on the backside of what is already fall ;; laughter echoes in the alleyway/  love shines on the dashboard / the twist of romance pulls moments out of the sky // fistfuls of hands pulling air out of the sky ; pulling air out of the rustic barn – steel rusting on the side  // the towns that sprinkle themselves out like so much confetti on the twisting roadway / the quaintest sites you’ll ever see ; and the mist gathering around the endless endless boughs of tree trunks and pine needles fresh pressing in to the fistfuls of air // Woodstock splattered like a paint can ; humbled like a reverie;;  a little utopian world sitting on the precipice of a mountaintop ; the brightly-coloured remnants of the Peace we all parceled out for one another – the peace we traded in for shiny things and plastic things and garbled rings and fumbled rhymes of another time for the aesthetic of retro or vintage that we want cling to for the peace we need ;; for the piece of the peace between our fingers – we find it again ; always  ;always in the echo of the fistful of air today , swirling , who is cascading the hills through this fog? lifts , drifting , drifting apprentice , painting its own melodies across the hillsides :: across the hillsides, the fog lifts me and I let it

A prayer to the midnight oil

I hope my friends are okay. I hope the midmorning light finds you in the presence of sweet breezes. I hope you find the moon light on the eyelashes of your skin and it reminds you that you’re whole. I hope you are not afraid of the dawning of the new light. I hope you know there are mornings to be met, in whatever new eyes you have to see. I hope you greet the side of the mountain, see it’s height, and know that you are capable. I pray for strength for my friends, for the paths they must walk far harder than mine. For the roads they walk, far more treacherous than mine. I pray for the fortitude, the resilience of the human spirit; the bravery. I pray for the health and safety of my friends.

san diego, spun like thread

california, baked to the crust — filled with golden momentum and quarried secrets — captured in the every word, the sing-song bird, the querying lemon tree – the little reaching sky blazing in to a new day – the hills filled with their own wilderness, the ocean gulping down the haze of the world spun like thread — no one’s everything has ever wandered deeper into the sun / no stream of daylight has ever passed through my heart like this oxygen of motion /

bubble hills – you perch me a top the golden glow, the flippant hum of the ocean waves, the current of the current capture of the sky — the cloud fervor murmuring, the wash of pine and prickled leaves peeling towards absolute blue, the dots and dashes of brilliant purple and indigo flower eyes peering up from sandcastle sidewalks,, the tunnel of rainbow-colored bricks leading to spanish rooftops – red-blooded and brick raftered, taffy curled edges and magic-filled ledges, the popped blush of plantlife, the flash of magic, of bliss // of the everything looking back at you

phoenix, az

sunrise over phoenix, and the world is quiet, the mountains stand at the ready – piercing the new day, bubbling like magma bones and fleshy cellulite strained into the air — the dirt is thick purple, the heat stiffles at every time of day – the air trembles with the murmur of the new day — these ancient piles, these magic wishbones of earth — i see you, i see you

and the news / the bruises, the endless aching heart of tragedy,, how dare we betray our lives with violence? how dare the world spin endlessly in this heartbreak – where is anything but senselessness?

the resting place of the air

i, savage rapture of my insides pulling against one another — i reach towards the sun, the sun pearls her little eyelashes back at me ;; i raid my memory for all the sweetest bits, the sticky glue to piece myself back together — i peel through every word and imagine it without you, my heart breaks at every small suture; i pull myself apart, i weave myself back together again

I, grown – feel my little life spinning again, feel like my heart has powers i’ve always waited to grow in to – i feel a silent blue light, a permanence of confidence, an unshakeable serenity — i feel i have all the time in the world, little youth bird, little capturer of light and words — i feel the resting place of the air – filled with words and wishes, i know how deeply i need the air and i know not why the universe spins this compass, peels me into the strange directions — i feel the universe in my every thought, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, i am trusting, or trying to, i am resisting, or trying to, i am releasing, or trying to

I love him terribly, terribly // my eyes fill with tears, i love him terribly

Strength is not devoid of pain, of attachment, of fear // love, an endless everything

I cannot loose myself from your sweetest caress, your confident affirmations, your presence and your care, the shelter of your body, your radiant joy, the peals of laughter, the courage and comfort – i love you terribly  

 

We are messy bundles of mistakes we humans, we try and try again, we fail, we grow, we learn, we shape, we fail again, we roll downhill and pick up steam and turn into a better self, if we’re lucky. I want to be a better self, no matter how many times i feel i am cooked – no one is ever cooked, no one is ever anything more than a spinning ball — it helps when i fail // i need to remember to remember to let go endlessly, to need less, to love more freely, with patience and forgiveness for myself, and patience and forgiveness for others — not to never mess up, but to always apologize and learn, always be reaching towards my higher self, even though oftentimes the growth spins round in circles, knocks you off and peels you back up again – the path is not linear, growth is not easy, failing is normal, trying again is brave

we carry each other

raucous the energy; raucous the laughter — the play of the apostrophe of sound, the surly ribbon of action driving us onto the boards – the wagon wheels bouncing under the weight of our pounce, our reticence, our memory pulled in to high gear, the whole organic beast fumbling towards itself;; the summer night peeling against the air – the crickets wandering in and out of the play itself, the wilderness of the stars hunting for us, the crackle and pop of the lights flushing in from the side — the twist and tunnel of movement capturing sound — the native voices funneling through the fingertips — let the band play on, let the band play on —

my whole heart feels visceral inside of my chest, the gratitude – a long step into the darkness, the friendship solidifying, crystalizing – we carry each other, we carry each other – we’ve got each other. we have no fear.

always unfurled

the gripping light – the curvature of rain, always the sculptural feeling of being alive — always the pools of light you find to cup in your tender hands// your burned skin, your bruised thighs, the nationhood of your hair;; the failure of the summer light pooling at the sound of fireworks — the little black den of another theatre, another philadelphia street, a scattered, torn apart city tucked away by shadow and light — the copy of the copy;; the labyrinth– summer heat and the piles of july standing on top of one another – craning towards the sun;; perhaps a perhaps-hand, always a maybe-limb ;; and here another bundle of words wrapped tightly together with string, twine, and the curl of time away from your fingers — always a curl, always unfurling, always unfurled