We whisper into the early morning hour out of respect for the dying night
I only want to write on an empty stomach, so to feel the urgency of hunger. I will sit with only five minutes left on the clock and write ceaselessly to see what it is that’s important to me. To know the pains clearly. To feel the heart beating.
If seeing clearly is the goal, why is it then that every time I see my conditioning clearly I muddy it in the days that follow.
Muddied by thought, by my search to know more, until its nearly forgotten. If it wasn’t for this ground that holds all activity the insight wouldn’t bubble back to the surface in time. And the process of muddying can start all over again.
To be able to write poetry successfully I have to do two things: give in to the experience. And give up assigning value to words; stay true to the story; give in to the music within the word. By giving in to the experience of course I mean the experience that gives rise to poetry, which is, of course, a poem in and of itself. I can write a poem about an experience while I’m living the experience, but I can far better write the poem, later, (or perhaps write a far better poem) if I’ve fully invested in the experience.
Don’t run my love
don’t run from
that quietude, embrace
this silence — without
it our voices could
not carry, let it be
the canvas on which
we paint our lives.
Take this cell for example. Its birth is violence, its product; beauty. Can you keep it. Can you hold the bursting. Hold it like the flame. Hold it, it’s yours.
the thing I love about futballers is that they’ll keep running at and trying to beat an opponent, they rarely give up.
It’s amazing how quickly and easily their joy becomes your joy, your joy becomes my joy.