A Life From Here
it’s a life less frightening from the back of the room. foot on a wall. foot on the cool.
False Minor Victory
feelings of fading and a life steadily on the sidelines as a version of me, out there, fumbles, flaws and all in false minor victories under flags to fall
A List, Simply
fate. duality. purpose. anxiety. faith and lack thereof. strangers mannerisms. the way light comes naturally through windows in dive restaurants and makes royalty of a relic. energy, and ones ability to effect a room in the immediate. pure aesthetics. intimacy in shadows and smiles by the low light. dualism. the far reaching, finite, inescapable affectation of the dualism of life. karma. influence. truth, and want of. little lies and are they innocent? memory. ones ability to adopt any specifics and arrangements of the past as they see fit to the varying light of their current life. stories. coincidence. conspiracy. charm in conversation and the elegant power in a simple smile. perspective. effort. empathy. expression. obsession. all of these as i see them in regularity and adoration. as all the parts of all the days of me. the recollection, and the trailing off as the sounds of the day surround the lines of the page. and i simply am, again, carried off, return my day away.
Sun Rode Out
you exist in the low light in dreams i sometimes dream, and wake up wild wondering...the sun rode out our make-believe
And The Desert Shines
There’s a certain tinge to timing. When words are worked, and perfect letters lift a curtain in the way they leave some lips. Time tested, for smiles left in airports where I never turned back; and before it’s known, a scene starts moving, unfolded from the former, and people, places are more than walk-pasts and dreams-ons. More than memories in the face of the fatalist brevity of the best encounters. That certain change. The tinge of timing rinses, off-white to bright, and the desert shines to summer.
Where I Reside
I reside with a vast collection of inconsistencies. A sea of distraction that's dust collected me; still I come back to a path where no X's sleep, and all question marks proceed. The same old ride-by-luck, drawn on hope and infinities. My coming back, my toxic trials, my heart resides in all these miles; my face-to-face finds peace in all the midnight tides. I come again, and leave again, and back and forth by right. On letting go, and consequence, and continental quills. Stuck to me, stuck on us in black and white beguile. Drawn inside and disappeared and "Hey, come back in time". On letting go, and letting go of mine.
A Plea of Pages
You simply turn a page, subtle, unassuming. Suddenly you’re staring back and shattered glass, there you are in the middle where someone else has said, and you have been there too, and all that page is you. Live there. As long as life. Soon it passes, in “Faithful and Virtuous Night”, I have been her too.
** I have been reading Faithful and Virtuous Night by Louise Gluck recently, the title piece drew this from me. Sometimes you turn a page and never know what is going to come out of those words, hers have struck, unexpected, and welcome.
The Corners
The things I have seen in the corners of my eyes. the peripheral pastor, the passing of minds…A slip, a fall, a twist of time. I saw some present or some future awe, side by side, or was it at all…Quickly glimpsed, quickly gone. Clipped and borrowed for a blink. I stop and wonder, and recede into questions, into me, it was not there, or so I think…
The Sound of Living
The sound of evenings.
The Sound of mornings.
The sound of sleep.
All sound the same, all interweave.
When life is loud, and but a dream
Simply Put
There is no fuller feeling than knowing what you are; and I mean this through no grand opening or ascension. Simple self, simple understanding, simply you, far from simple. To sit and ponder any actions, any words you shared or spared and why, grasping any implication you may have left or felt between the lines, and knowing that from time to time, a smile is as genuine as the time itself. It takes a torrid heart to hold oneself, a fervent glow to show another; but knowing so, and trusting you, and trusting them to trust it too is life and limb. Here forever, gone the wind; for sanity, for all the ghosts we never spoke, and all the ramparts red. For all the you in all the saints whose self was never read.
In Hard Times
Goodnight love, goodnight stars. Dream big tonight, dream hard.
A Life of Goodbyes
Live a life where the goodbyes are always Irish, and the warmth in your cold blue eyes is what they're reminded of when the sound of your voice strikes their mind, and the dramatic line of your smile sets in to surpass all questions of "Why?". Believe only in the chances you took, not the ones you had; breathe only heartfelt in reminiscent minutes.
Always a Story
The weight of explaining to someone how you've changed. They stare in expectation, knowing, wanting, waiting for your story, because there is always a story. To sum a lifetime of nuanced actions, reactions, insults, injuries, scars, starts, start-overs, endings, renderings of every you from every time and the culmination of every life you've lived in your lifetime of living... the thought feels a forgery. The question puts words in our mouths and minds as gospel, but we will change again, and those words turn false from hymnal...
To Dance Around
a choice, in defeat of all design. always a choice to dance around your fleeing mind. but left to chance, a choice is felt to pass, a crime to wave goodbye.
Anxious Appeal
bulidup to bigger breaths from the edge of every bed. pressure filled from somewhere in some sidestreet soliloquy you once forgot you said; and since forgotten thoughts all haunt your head. the anxious quilt to cover up until you pull a thread. and up and down, and lost the crown, the cool is fucking dead. your chest is full and scared until the air unfurls, then fade to dreams forever before the scheme repeats.