Sitting under spectacles of spires
the rain falls like crows feet
hitting the street have you ever
wondered if there’s more than this
the bell rings four times
four times the bell rings and
you think you’ve found god
at the bottom of the stairs
by the gutter under St.
Ignatius’ chapel, but it’s mere
loneliness and green things in a
canopy of themes
reduce the family
the family crossing the street
to accents in your mind
in my mind
the accent is awailable
but when i try to let it
puncture my lips it slips
and there is space compressing
soaking the words with gasses
or fuel. In the infinite spaces of
my head there is a sanctuary
that i always have access to, yet
cannot reach through the hall of
mirrors. Herbavores bathed here
between the bitter fronds, varicose
tendrils, when i consume i consume
like they do. Green is the colour
i build these pretenses around
trying so hard to protect that
emerald city building
building a city that cannot last
outside we build up, but within
we build out to keep each
other out at a distance so we
can use the smartphone to
get a hold of each other get
a hold on reality get a grip
let it slip cause there’s nothing
more than this. Have you ever wondered?
Do you ever wonder?
where the escape button
got hid
Month: December 2019
Production
Today I’m feeling rather productive in my productionlessness. My boss, however, disagrees.
Gardeners Also
We are also gardeners
planting seeds in this palm
scratch scratch scratching the
surface we hash lines sinews
run through pockets of fat-lined muscle
marked with
salmon scale boundary
Pockets rich in sustenance
providing for
endless giving
Marrow surges in streams
seeds of the past tumble in
dark memories
Histories foam with guilt and shame
beware the crow
and his endless surging aerating
Tender soil
habits worm to the surface
every holiday season
I plant more
of the same seeds.
I woke up this morning
to find seeds in my palm
scratching the surface
scratching the dust they
remain just out of reach
sinews like rivers snake
deep below and crown like
the tree holding fast to memory
the air is frozen and i’ve
begun to foam at the mouth
looking for answers i reach
the fat-lined muscle marked
by salmon scale and pockets
of gold pockets of giving
stretching for the morning
light the crow balances on
my fingertips and tries like
so many before him to dig
up the seed, surging endlessly
and only too happy to find
the worm of tireless habits
Always a Watcher
Standing in line for Santa. . . Choruses of Santa can hear you ribbon to the edge and the passerby looks over shoulder hurriedly on his way.
All the People
And all the people in the palm of the hand of Life dancing like coral
celebrating the inky swells of time and space.
Fucking WordPress
For me one of the most valuable interactions with a user is starting a chat and seeing they are ready to jump off a ledge, early in the chat they’ll give you some sass, and by the end of it you have them thanking you and learning something new. Now they can go back to posting about mindfulness and the benefits of being calm.
Probably my Happiness Engineer
Thanks to Desiree F and Tanya T, my Happiness Engineers for getting me through my issue and helping me to learn a few new tricks. Now they can go home and relax and probably not think about ending it all due to their low pay and high stress workload. They deserve a raise.
Fucking WordPress
I had a poem for you today. It was quite fantastic, if I do say, but wordpress editor doesn’t seem to like the way I use to do things in order to get the most basic look I wanted. You know the simple layout I always use. So, sorry to say, I don’t have a poem for you today.
It’s either only a block paragraph or this…
Winter Warning
Winter warning: honeyed shovels scattered on the ground
Like Bricks
Like Bricks
I like to put words to images.
To make noise is to vibrate is to create
A family crossing the street
I assign their thoughts to my head
accent on the usual. within my vacuum
footsteps fall silently.
Shadows burst
into fantasy.
Black and White become bullet casings and
spattered targets. Lifting the truth like a
burden or maybe
the bumblebee coming to rest on the sacred.
Resistance lives in all things, carves a night in your chest where
it
hangs a sign and leaves a broom.
Real courage is found
in the not resisting resistance. Traffic sounds are no longer
buried in the trees
brambles of branches tumbleweed through thin winter air.
varicose skies wonder why
mental vibration strung up a cataclysm of
moth balls like bricks through your window
I like to put words to images.
To make noise is to vibrate is to create
A family crossing the street
I assign their thoughts to my head
accent on the usual. within my vacuum
footsteps fall silently.
Shadows burst
into fantasy.
Black and White become bullet casings and
spattered targets. Lifting the truth like a
burden or maybe
the bumblebee coming to rest on the sacred.
Resistance lives in all things, carves a night in your chest where
it
hangs a sign and leaves a broom.
Real courage is found
in the not resisting resistance. Traffic sounds are no longer
buried in the trees
brambles of branches tumbleweed through thin winter air.
varicose skies wonder why
mental vibration strung up a cataclysm of
moth balls like bricks through your window
I Have Seen
It’s here in these early morning nighttime silences under shadows of abandoned office buildings— solitary light in the window, computer screens waiting to be wakened; in the silent shudders of trees and passing cyclists; here in the promise of the day that we must come to terms with the howling cries of death and hunger.
And I have seen a future of abandoned corporate office parks. I have seen parking lots deserted save for staggered cars parked with windows busted and garbage bag taped over. It is there that I have seen a future wherein the word hope has been replaced by neighbor. Longing, by community.
Where the sun-rise from the west behind thread-bare quilted blanket lies the bosom of a new day.
