The Chance of Touching You

Madness
for I am surely mad

The door you left open
The chance of your trembling touch
drew me here tonight
And now
silence rushes in through a door I’m incapable closing
A tsunami of numbness tumbles into this dark room
Not peace
Not an end to this madness

I want to stir your heart-fire
Want to dance with you
to the throbbing thundering drum physically heaving my chest
bursting my ears
melting my defenses
curling around my every thought like incense
glimmering like motes of light

In this silent place
I long to touch your face
one more time with my eyes
I call out as I come apart on this
the altar of your absence
within your temple of silence

If you were here
I’d close my eyes and hold your face
My lungs’d stretch to inhale just one atom of you
and I’d hold my breath
till death came to relieve my heart

Madness
The door you left open
The chance of your trembling touch
The bitter ache of knowing the only thing that holds us apart
is a single word from your mouth

the sky fell

The day the sky fell
and everything is submerged in the waters

two men and two women
walk
(can you walk under water
or is it called swimming?)
appear to be walking across a field
some kind of cultivated field
(I’m thinking
one of those ancient grains
cause that kind of thing is so popular nowadays)

they are all laughing bubbles
and the bubbles are acting funny
I mean you expect bubbles to go up
so we must conclude that either we don’t know which way is up
or there is some kind of down current

anyway its hard to tell which man is with which woman
cause they keep touching each other with a strange fondness
like they have no inhibitions
total trust
they couldn’t be more naked if they dropped all their clothes

these kids today

oh
did I mention that it was a total eclipse of the sun?
cause I think that’s why the sky fell

The Artist

 

She pictures an open door
the Sun when its spent
She pictures the corridor
now vacant with lament

She pictures the empty shelf
no leaves upon the tree
She draws me outside myself
but never pictures me

My Quickening

In the crackle-sharp air of that blazing Autumn afternoon
I stood on my Grandfather’s porch
and felt myself ‘feeling’ for the very first time

The grey, porch paint
The dust in the driveway
The skies burning
Azure edged
Sharp enough to cut you
The flaxen-gold collage of the maples and oaks
and ever-dying apple trees

The wind was walking the hillside
and something sonorous sang me into Awareness
Somehow my hands had become things of strange and surreal beauty
as I pressed them into the wrinkling membrane covering the Universe
My child heart shuddered under the enormity of Reality
and everything took on a texture like something out of a DMT vision

Somehow I knew without knowing how I knew
that I was everything I could see, hear, smell and more
I was the child standing
and something standing beyond
And the man I am now

All watching

All at once
Yet . . .
In a place outside Time . . .

I have walked under many skies
But never again
one so Real

An Old Man’s New Day

I release the nonsense
After all
I have nothing left to lose

I shall embrace this bold new day
in all its wonder
splender and pain

No longer afraid to hope or to fear
Afraid to prosper or receed
No longer tied to dreams or nightmares
I am somehow
strangely free

And in all the matters I set my hand to
in this time of chaos and victory
I am and shall always be
the utmost expression of myself

in matters of life

 

she asked
“Are the gods silent
or is it me?”

the gods are not silent
even in this moment

there is no silence

life is thick, thunderous marching boots
on crazed dictators
stamping across a tin roof

life is a wining dog at the door

life is the roar of a river eating its own banks

and yet
the gods. . .
they are quiet, but not silent

life is a whisper in a hurricane
life is a fragile bloom
even though last spring the frost killed the other bloom
life is a gentle second in a year of bedlam

in matters of life
if we are wise
we appreciate it when we have it