Each one
My ancestors words
Trying
Dying in the middle
Of my consternation
Accessing only
My little breaths
Taken
From unwritten history pages;
A pen
So delicate
Little fragments
Are lost
As each letter forms.
Tag: middle
Arc Beams Vision (day 3020)
I have a vision
Been coming stronger
Sitting in the middle
Of a wooden floor
Carpets laying around
Neatly arranged
Raw browns and orange
And fringe
And a comfortable
Record spinning
Easy for my heart
With a friend
Who’s looking into my eyes
To find a vision
With the smell of herbs
Floating into our souls
Palo Santo,
Incense and a candle
And plants
Creeping around the room
Like they invited me there
To sit
Like a student at the altar
Singing with the open air of breath
So clearly enchanting
The moment in the sun
As it arcs its way across
The beams of this vision.
Beginning Goodnight (day 1850)
This is the beginning
The middle
And always the end
I have run with you into madness
As lovers
As a good friend
And by lingering moonlight
I will sing
And wish you goodnight.
Into a Hole, A-ho (day 1745)
I wonder, pacing back and forth in the middle of light,
Is there something that’s become thus turbulent undertow?
Have I designed such fit for feet of strangers?
Long walks alone in a forest captures my heart,
Where has thy sweet sun crept away to? I ask in earnest to nodding nuances,
But no answers come back, though I implore twice for free.
Meanwhile slow approaching whisps sling past in a haze of unkempt mystery
Shrouded in man-made asphalt that collects at its side big puddles
For jumping.
And yet my friends among the silence who stand motionlessly absorbent
Carry weight of history so thickly my stomach begins to grumble,
My breath begins to abate me, and a slow tear finds its way into a hole.
So my wandering takes me back to a place I’ve always been
A question that’s never left the tips of my heart-hole that resists coldness
Keeping my toes so at night but warming my soul into abundantly undone.
Along a Canal (day 1647)
This is my middle finger.
I take the softest wind drift
To an older enemy,
Who sighed inside a bottle
That floated down a river
And sweeped into the delta
Of rice fields and manure.
Care ye’to thee ol’letters?
As I recited memories
On twenty pound letterhead.
Till I turned around forever.
Saving Grace (day 1441)
Movement arts can break my heart
Shifting me forever more,
Until sun comes to warm my fun
With a source of everlasting.
But even then, in spite my reign,
I spit out glowing embers
That shatter reason and
Break peaceful truths,
Leaving the middle road
A piece of saving grace
I dare not tread to lightly.