type.writer -xv

one morning you sit down
to your work with your coffee
beside you and

the tides have been broken 
they have turned on the ocean!
this is what you came for
so suddenly
emergent

disciple to words
the reading
the writing

the sea and the healing
fresh atmosphere replaces
the ceiling! an absence of the world
you recollect so unfeeling

your voice is upon you
you've found yourself! finally
the struggle is gone
you no longer push into page

strangely awakened
enveloped by an undercurrent
you sing the song you were born to sing
you come thrashing to surface!

like faith
you cannot see it
you only feel it
you know

these are the moments a writer lives by!
when time loses interest
appetite gone silent
and the sentences form on their own

full of spirit!
making meaning
full of feeling!
with rhythm and rolling

you collide with the page
like a strike
when you're bowling

thank the stars
thank the gods
you got lucky
kid

today an ICE agent tomorrow an angel in hell

Second only to the FBI in its investigative reach, deep in the pockets of American taxpayers, the Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency laid its golden egg and hatched its controversial plans to rid the country of more than just illegals in the year of dear god!  twenty seventeen. Compliments to the chef. They were cooking up some marvelous remoulade to curry bipartisan favor with faux headlines and fear mongering, from here to Hong Kong. Political showmanship prospered out of the loins of homeland insecurity. ICE agents darkened your town hall and mine, to show all communities that they exist, in the depths of adversarial detachment and unavailability. Showing those who have put forth the largest parts of themselves and their lives toward anything of any substance, the door.

luckily the way of the world prevails

I think now more about the one who is there where I was. And how I might support them. Where might they come from to have arrived here? I actually think by listening to my heartbeat, in and out of synch with the many hearts, and watching thus I learn so much of interest. This last part I am saying in my head or you, in yours. Meet me in between the pages, read to me, in our eyes the fires of silence, our lips at night tremble to face the dawn. We seem to have a connection that travels farther still, resplendent through a fog which always dissipates.We share the chill that gives way to the fiercest sunrise, softest where we met, to ever rinse off the earth! Again, we fall in love.

lucky

I had a lucky childhood mostly, which I could not take for granted after the incident when I was in my mother's belly on a two lane highway, an oncoming schoolbus swerved over the line and almost collided with us. I think I remember. I got the best of education and parents and a brother who looked after me with great care. I had my own room at an early age, though I wished I could share a room with my older brother still, in a sprawling Queen Anne Victorian on a hill. We had a dog, a cookie jar, steam radiators, and a piano. My mother issued spankings by the mouth of its winding staircase. My father came home from work and the family gathered round the kitchen table nights, and we picked a prayer from a deck of cards inside a plastic loaf of bread, to read with our heads bowed and fingers clasped before our meal.

I had lots of chores to do and lots of books to explore. I loved the Chronicles of Narnia most. I cherished those books. I had one foot in the church and one foot out, in perfect reflection of my mother's Christianity and my father's atheism. I certainly enjoyed exploring the great cathedrals of New York City and participating in charitable events. And listening to music all the time. Years later I became agnostic and a social worker. Television became a terrible faith. Mindlessness and magical thinking and unreality. I was much better off reading and using my own imagination, playing outdoors with the neighborhood kids in any weather. Skating, running, listening to music, fighting, writing.

Thinking back on my life... there is no wonder i am changed and yet remain quite the same at the core, rock steady somehow, trying to be an innovator, trying to express myself in meaningful waves, and hopefully many more years even twice as many years in store, which i could not even say three years ago today, when was my time of dying. Some like myself cannot stand (for our health) lashing out upon the world when we feel we have been forsaken. Instead we go inward and hurt ourselves, which is no less terrible perhaps - but I would rather swallow the poison than poison you, if between the two was my only choice. That's just me.