Daft Jewels
No waiting
No separate muse
for Rachel, on the edge of 17
Am I defective?
she asks
seriously
and I answer that -
perception may not be reality
and then
I wonder
am I defective?
imperfect?
Faulty?
Archaic?
perhaps.
Thankfully.
but never
lacking, deficient
not out of order (I dance for chaos like some sing for supper)
occasionally offensive, a spelling error
the awkward metaphor
but not unsound
not broken
maybe wanting
something other
than what is
is still what is
in the moment
supplicant labyrinth
offering the sacred
and she is so far away
I reach to you offering
my eyes
as an embrace
my perception
an innumerable
feathered
quilt
it is ok
you are ok
even on your bed of nails
don't confuse the storm at sea
with the solidness of the ground you stand on
we are all red under the skin
even when we are blue
and no one knows intimacy like the spoon in your mouth
what difference does it make
if your moment rattles the glass?
chew gently
your heap of bones and flesh
the only home you have
and if dreams were more than dreams -
how would you decorate your self?
and if your thoughts are citizens -
must you listen to them all?
befriend each one?
believe each honest?
even I once lied compulsively
on a bed of what I thought they wanted to hear
can we choose our thoughts like we choose our friends;
learning from experience?
and just for one radical moment
imagine
being
what ever you are
with out judgment
they never tell you this
but it is okay to hum with happiness
in the midst of the storm
when the tree roots scratch your throat
when the hallway of locked doors seems unending -
the insomniac's party
so no my dear,
you are not defective
even when ineffective
how else would you learn
to know the stars?
the angst of your creation myth
will be the song of your strength
it's ebullient resilience
the soul's best kept forgetting -
reversed recoiling
and darling,
the ever complex
is the tree that bears fruit
and stands through the seasons
even the strike of lightening
not burning the roots
simple to say
but take care the rooms you lock yourself into
and ask of who's own choosing
this resident paranoia
in the land of make believe
the cruelest of cynics are easily terrorized
and this too is like moments
is but a dream
one peel of the onion
the untouched jewel at the center of your earth
remains
waiting
and if in the eye of the unseen breeze
my jesters seem to spout
platitudes
in self indulgent silks
I reach out with heartfelt ablutions
this belief in your ultimate ability
to navigate
psyche's tangled tresses
as you look again, again, and again
in new ways
with today's eyes
I want to say
I care about you
August 2008
ophthalmologism
ophthalmologism
distant and untouchable
the blanket of safety
exposes
hungry ghosts -
offering solutions
like familiar props
poisonous habits of thought
scary marionettes
swaying in the cool breeze
do we ever outgrow the conditioning of our youth?
not the breakfast cereal,
but the hidden ingredients -
their names unspeakable
the space between
the Saturday morning cartoon and the commercial
the dearest friend
is a mirror
forcing the vampire's reflection -
the past sucks itself dry
this too is illusion
so, how old does one have to be
to be new?
torpid goddess
the atheist balloon
athirst
unnerving stranger
fragile and transient
we are
silent
hidden
screaming
do you see me?
contemptible gifts glitter in the dawn
when the world looks new
can you see the humanity
inherent contradiction
platypus platitudes
filling every moment
connecting the dots
the insufferable fury of shoulds
saying
it should be simple
as simple as new love
as easy as remembering
at the cellular level
as clean as the changing seasons
are taken for granted
the recreation of creation
with no sidelines
it should be simple
to float when stuffed with sand -
savory and sweet
perhaps I need my I-s checked
August 2008
symbolic imaginings appearing real
this is temporary
What is it that you want?
slipping between the trees at dusk
dressed in secrets
surrounded
the night sky's blood dresses you in lace
and I am lost
What is it that I want?
memories slipping between the horizon
with nary a wrinkle
the snagged thread that just keeps pulling
a magician's trick
an unblown tapestry
a finger wake
spirals into dogma's stolen handmaidens
Transcending nothing
is still transcendent
I say nothing
to say everything
encased in glass
sinking deep
into your eyes
a poem to no one
no audience
no glorious metaphor
to disguise emptiness
to betray fullness
no birth
that
amorphous string
of thoughts
beaded and glittering
a child's plastic toy in the rain
a poem to no one
wood chips between the dogs teeth
the cavern grows large, ripening
the fruits of denial
starving the finer points
dreaming of that perfect tomorrow
when
a small piece of me and not me at all
calls
secret selfishness
not so secret
Whose flower is this?
speak to me
blooming no where
dancing antiquated steps
ripping over stale tongues
with creaking joints
like the Korean ghost story
it takes only a hint
only one strand creeping midnight hair
only fingertips curling
to raise the follicles of lies
sleeping between the eyes of a scream
is not the way they promised it would be
So tell me
What I have told you?
What have you heard?
hands sear
I am inferno beneath frigid skin
this change
symbolic imaginings appearing real
that one apple
was a lie
it was only fruit
and worm eaten at that
used as an excuse
to justify
emptiness
no bending over backwards
no pheromone elixir
no deeper truth
no secret smiles
no silence
no alchemy
now shhhhhh I say
hush
listen
the molecules are dancing
with no need for a god
hush
and listen
to the hum of electricity
even on the mountain
as if silence where real
as if
all was as it is
and as it is
is what is was
but not before
Don't you know?
clinging to air will give you blisters
on your hands and knees
before me
hungry muse
digesting a lack of form
saying no thing
not one by one
but bloom by bloom
in the blinding heat of our ignorance
we outgrow our aging
silent trembling
unspoken
yet shining upwards
stretching mind
stretching mine
the random page
opened to a cherry orchard
blood red fingers
sweet on my skin
a fabled abundance
a qualified adornment
a forgotten talent
like the thunder we made
torrential
tomorrow
of dusty sighs
she walks between the trees singing
Will I always wonder who she will be?
August 2008
Poems
Float through
Consciousness
Laughing wildly
At my inkless hand
Then turning to comfort
My emptiness
