“I guess dirt is a good foundation for Green”
– Grace, On what comes before
Do not underestimate the power
of letting a fellow traveler
examine closely your thoughts;
the exchange of words in the old fashion.
Speak beautifully, construct the response,
and fear not being misunderstood.
The travel of two is always a blessing
to the journey — Like a fixed star,
these moments gift to your voice
some sort of guide along the road — Something to bounce ideas off of even if they don’t come back right away. Internally, perspective stirs the concepts, it stokes the flame; feeding it when you thought you might be on your last log
Share the tastes, and pangs of life.
Even if it is dirt, you can both agree on that.
And what’s more, when it isn’t dirt…
you’ve both got something of a shared celebration!
“Not being able to create art, they will not understand art.”
I have become very fond of our scuttling, our tossing and turns
Where are we going but in the arms of another once more,
into the rays of the brightest days ahead, and the soothing darks
Shadows passing by, to a classical promenade – we’re filled
with the ecstasy of a new favorite taste,
touch upon these tongues the juice of gods
the dripping filth of a fruit truly enjoyed, flesh devoured.
You dove in and let the primal loose, and used your skin like a paint brush,
Dragging across the sky until every star shone precisely how you desired,
and you desired a lot – You desired that every breath be held properly as you moved,
and passed with a right amount of resistance, a reminder that something in you is raging
to leave its mark! Clawing with every neural snap, every electrical pulse, POW – it will
leave the walls of your room dripping if that’s where you want the master work, it calls;
a summoning howl to the torrents within, dangerous, but magic always wins.
I draw you–in–many don’t go down this road.
There is too much to do,
even with what we have we’re short – we’ll make it work
I see the world writing,
a new story everyday
poetry month, another year –
It’s me, it’s me, it’me,
With brave words I hide many fears,
fear of loss, of pain, of truth,
I am not the words I’ve written
It’s me, words I’ve always been,
how to use them, how I bend,
Yet in all this months time,
I’ve managed not to rend
words from within. I am dead
Never doing what I’m supposed to be doing,
and maybe I won’t do what I should,
but I’ll end up doing what I’ve done,
and that is something.
I’ve got more life!
Have you seen me with a fire?
Have you seen me when I’ve got everything together?
Just the right amount
The right mask,
A taste I can enjoy at my own pace; nothing moves at our own pace
To my own tune – I’m sacred
Off key and I’m still enraptured – a captive audience does not decide what it likes
The gift is this; you waited for years – at times you were so thirsty that the sand actually went down nice and smooth; it even filled all the cracks in your skin to hold you together; you stayed in the sun long enough to forget it was hot; and you drank from an oasis or two in your delusions. Even though the clear cool water was actually more sand…You grew roots to every corner, and then pushed the boundaries of your vessel further. One morning without warning water washed weariness from the entire desert – of which you drank and drank your fill. With a burst of joy you sprang from within, bringing all the vivacious colors of bloom, bounty, and blessed to the surface.
You know better than anyone what’s in the phospholipid bilayer of each cell in your body… Is it something negligible? Or is it something you decide is more? I think you’ve got so much brimming within that you can’t afford not to let your magic flow with every motion. You could turn this entire valley green with just one lick of your tongue. This sky would bleed strawberry red if you laid down in the clouds. Turn the whole world purple if you close your eyes. You want colors, and you’ll have them.
Don’t worry baby, we’ll find a better field to gaze up at the stars from.
Come a little closer baby, put your breath into my chest; I’ll press my lips to your forehead, exhaling, “This is my heaven.” These moment where at the surface not much is stirring, but without the breakwaters of your touch my boat would find the waves rougher.
I want to travel to far away places, and then far away places that used to be near places until all the places have been far and near – Until every place has found space in my heart.