the w(h)ip

Dead of winter
starry night
Fearful cold
bluish light

i find myself alone
again

after dinner thin
mint the charleston
a dance

i listen
watching you

see how you falter
fumbling at the altar

locked up inside
alone again

all whatever fabric
falls off

you listen
watching me

just enough time
to wave
goodbye

something quite amazing
will happen when

we leave
the body
behind

see . saw

Some deity of prepossession took hold in America, leaving little room for argument and debate. Lady liberty gripped her torch so tight her hand began to crumble and her arm fissured and fell off, her torch falling into Hudson Bay where water met fire with the strangest sound. Water won and the western world was a little darker, hard to see. The thinker felt the ripple in time and stood up against his master's orders. Millions of women marched and the men, well, they also serve who stand and wait. Behind bulletproof glass and whitewashed timber, the purposeful and power-laden drew back the drapes and saw only panhandlers, holding signs and begging for change.

"dry my eyes"

"I want to tell Freddy what happened, I want him to know but where to start? No worries cuz it’s the same Freddy all of the time, letting stuff roll off his back, layin there looking at me and the boy, the patience of a dark planet waiting for light years to arrive, and I tried but at first the words wouldn’t come, Gaptooth quiet sittin between my legs counting my toes with his fingers, when my eyes betray me and well up with tears, and I fall into Freddy and he holds me until the heavy feelin thumbs on outta there like a hitchhiker walking down the margin of a single lane highway disappearin into the Sierras, leavin me with a lighter heart. Gaptooth reaches up with his shirt tail to dry my eyes."            - Book 3. w.i.p

(re)cognition(s)

i thought all over you, i am sorry, i mean no harm, all my memories playin across your body and face like runny egg-white shadows and you don't know what to do, so politely ensconced listenin to me go on and on about stuff we forgot purposefully long ago -- OH -- the damage i might do on accident, for me you would do anything, for you i would do anything, making something of you you are not, here with our cutoff gloves playing fingertipsies, blind to the sign language we are groping -- THE -- cognition is not fully lubricated, does not cover the entire street and buildings and sky and short bursts of nature in the medians, i guess in this ragtag mind i got, driftin here, pausing over there -- BY -- the cracks in the roads whereby loiters and got no business to be, trance music, clubs, dancing, you and me, why can i not hold up on our benevolency -- PLEASE -- i mean no recognitions, move along little thoughts, fly away, move along, there are interior spaces up in northern provinces, Canada and the like, which need fulfilling -- SPACES -- we will bundle ourselves up and head out into icy quiet not-threatening ones,  warmth of coffee and small talk, overtures of what we may be if we simply let ourselves trudge forward and go

in a fashion of caring

These days I see people in a sacred space who are tragically depressed, like they can hardly get themselves out of the house and make it to session. I see people who are in abusive relationships and sometimes with themselves. I see myself seeing people and I don't know how to help. All the stuff they taught me not always on the ready. What ends up happening is I help create the sacred space in which I see them, and we meet there, and I invite them there again, and I'm not always making any money cuz I volunteer, too, so I may be tired and permanently jetlagged by my nightshift, and I'm sure they see me tired and tryin to pay close attention cuz I care, and hopefully, just hopefully, they will realize they are worth caring for and start to care for themselves a little more, too, but even if they don't, well that's okay, too.

stop torturing us

Don't let anyone ever tell you
torture helps

Let them hang themselves by their toes for several hours and see how that's working for them. let them immerse themselves in exceedingly high decibel environments then isolate themselves in sensory deprivation. see if they come out of that advocating how torture works. do not let anyone convince you that hurting someone make us safer. incapacitating someone ensures our freedoms. bombing some city to hell is the hallmark of an awakened cultural consciousness?

 Come on, now
 stop torturing us

the plot. ecstatic

A while back i was wearin a floral print shirt i bought with a gift card leftover from the holidays, and found myself perspiring through another busy day, what with the excitement of life in this little city, and my sweat comingled with the pattern, the print from the inside out, and the material began to stick to my skin. i tried to tug it away from time to time, whilst talking to people about their problems, then had to take my coffee break early, smiling as i excused myself, when to my dismay i found the print had firmly rooted itself into me, and my upper body was one big floral tattoo, a colorful garden up and down my arms and fingers, across my shoulders and breasts, around to encompass my back replete! i quickly made my way, unacosted, out a side door to exit the building, and running home from there i had many uninvited acknowledgments and gang signs flashed my way by passerbys, all in the breathless spirit of the life of ink, and finally i got over myself by a chain link fence a few blocks from where i lived. as i caught my breath in a lean i saw the clouds open up to the sun, and closed my eyes to feel the sudden warmth spread over me and fill me with a feeling i have never before known, a sorta ecstatic love! last thing i remember i was leanin more deeply into the chain link, which was giving into the weight of me, the side of my face and body getting waffled, one eye fixed within a quadrant of link. i opened it to see within, a community garden with plots for anyone who cares. i always wanted a plot of my own, beside pumpkins, green pepper and garlic. now i kinda sorta do! i seem to reside there, and they tend to me, watering and cutting me back every so often. i don't mind my rectangular confines, so long as sun can reach me and provide the ecstatic love, here where the plot thickens, in the heart of midtown, i have lost interest in anything else.