The folds and canyons,
wrinkles of thinking grey
matter sitting silent waiting
encased, cradled, held &
protected from ourselves,
from a world confusing, a
time rotating us further and
farther toward an end that
those folds only imagine.

We don’t know we can’t
know looking, yeah looking
into our thoughts dreams
middle living wayward small
bits of thinking we’re anything
but confusing ourselves if
we think at all watching the
spinning of our lives, the
unfolding our brains can’t do

When that tiny inkling that
rare habit arises surfaces
breaks the line between here
and now, between then and
all the endings we’ve lost, in
that small moment of reflection
that gesture that hesitation
of wanting of meaning of
negotiation we believe

Our brain exists in semi-solid
tranquility unaware inside
calcium backed stacked always
attached with servitude we
believe because we believe
we see because we see
only what we know are can be
sitting in that shadow of
knowing not knowing

All inside the outside of what
we’ve ever thought…stumbling
small steps/small notes sliding
across somnambulant humid
heavy and waiting air it is more
than we know can take but our
brain does and does and does
like we know that it does, again
and again

and again.

I want to lose
daily weekly
monthly…I think
it is important
envious big and
loud I want to
lose like all, like
none but ever and
forever I want to
have something
before nothing,
before its gone…

I want to lose
with flair with
panache with all
the force weight
of all times I’ve
ever thought of
all the moments
that conspired
to defeat me to
create me, to pull
me from the edge
of now

I want to lose
so I know what
winning having,
what knowing is
when all of that
is less than
always less than
knowing nothing
I want to lose
in order to win to
find, I want to
lose.

We need to accept

those things we

doubt, but

we handle them

strangely,

slowly, without

knowing where

shadows will fall

their shape-substance

and feel; all leading

away

from reason,

away

from slight comfort

and knowing…we

want to dream that

the path is one

we have traveled

we have felt under

tired feet and

we learn in every

case when we are

wrong/right…mistaken

misguided

…we learn

It is a silent, factual moment I am waiting in
while small wonder creates ripples of sadness
I am thinking deeply, surreptitiously about
commitment focus belief and the ability to
wipe it all away, purposefully de-thinking the
place, the time…the effort of living…while
diving deep into a confused morass of ideas
thoughts wonderment thinking thinking
toward an understanding I can’t ever possess

A video on the internet showing a man upset
a man focused and committed to his anger, his
uncompromising attitude of correctness enveloping
everything he is, says…does…I can see the
empty promise in his eyes, the resignation of
agreement of direction flow movement…I can
see the flame in his hand, darkened clothing
from the wet of kerosene…he lights himself
on fire and makes the ultimate irrelevant point

I am examining the world with a lens made of me
with a filter set on “all” so unavailable so
inexplicable to be able to feel that thought, a
single thought encompassing everything as a
blanket of seriousness like none before, like
god on earth, like none I could ever be; I am
thinking about how that thought arrives, how it
is announced in the foyer of consciousness
how it is here, it is now, it is everything

There is no sound, he sits cross legged, flames
dancing to a tune only he hears, no sign of
pain understanding awareness that this is the last
dance, the last fading reverberation of living, the
moment before the moment left to doubt…but
that is the factual silence I am in, the shadowless
space between what I knew and what I think
when all I have is me…now…here and I am happy
sad that I will never possess that thought

Thrashing in my sleep/in my
tossing turning wrapping burning
sheets stretching irksome
world of mad dreams and sad
reflections; I create the shadow
the inky stain of regret that falls
under my feet/that as a
cancer edges upwards along
narrow lines of convergence and
collaboration; the need to feel
when feeling has never been
anything other than sadness/than
a perspective on my madness

Yesterday I was a shadow a passing remark
Today I am more me than possible yesterday
Tomorrow shames me how less I am today

This day this day will arise in a
transverse manor a different view
with majestic articles of faith of
clear energy toward a moment
minute hour a day all wrapped and
ready for delivery…this day will
create what has never succeeded
has never been attempted
has waited in small patience
and outsized expectation this day
will a shining start make a blazing
glory the mid-sentence stumble
toward everlasting greatness

Yesterday I was a shadow a passing remark
Today I am more me than possible yesterday
Tomorrow shames me how less I am today

Realization awakes along with
me along with sifting silence waiting
for me on chairs on tables on the
path toward the rest of the day; today
recedes into less than greatness
and glory/it is today it is another
photo of another me waiting again
and again for change external while
knowing change internal is the only
path toward difference toward the
expectation of who I am when I am
more than who I should be.

Yesterday 
Today 
Tomorrow 
Milestones
Of not being done.

I stumbled through the days leading
up to this minute moment time in my
life while looking hiding seeing nothing
but what I imagined felt like seeing

I created scenarios wrote stories led
a dream walking forever asleep life of
mere existence of simple breathing
walking never waking day after day

This day this moment time in my
laughter crying living life I see nothing
but what I am and never was and I think
think again until it becomes who I am

There is no loss as it never was it
never could be it was always a dream a
vision seeing nothing but that shadow
falling in front heading toward tomorrow

Who I am will be could be walking no
running toward that tomorrow is nothing
but impulse electrical synapse sparking
tiny little chemical explosions

My brain envelopes the idea that I am
someone something solid real living
on dirt on a planet circling a sun; an
idea shared by 7 billion other brains

I am the difference I make myself; not
ever knowing otherwise… seeing the
glowing inside obscured by the outside
of a growing confidence

I stumbled I fell I woke up

Consciousness evolved to
keep us alive keep us moving
keep us imaging the next step;
next thing…the next road to
take on our journey to jury-
rigged dominance to
Armageddon to the end
of us as we know us…all the
while thinking how smart how
much better higher evolved
we have grown

Observation creates sensation
building a future view 
predictions to be recorded
defined put away a place
to be saved to be retrieved
on second thought the
ability of living today within
the perspective of tomorrow
that is wholly imagined
yesterday…welcome to being
human

That predictive ability, that
guessing game which pushed
forced allowed us to be the
apex of the pyramid, the pin
sharp top of the food chain
we are able to plan scheme
bully and beg today for the
world we require tomorrow,
knowing nothing more than
what we did
yesterday

Consciousness allows us
pushes forces us to excel at
predicting what we already
know; yesterday…when what
we know is just an echo of what
we knew…and the yesterday
after is the same with a flaw
with a moment lost on nobody’s
notice but to feel sense…know
that the end is inevitable and
is tomorrow

I stole their lies, painted
the sky with dreams, I
reached for the soul of
who I thought I should be

She watched as I fell from
the vantage point I had
created…a sad motion
toward understanding

I willed myself to become
the lie, the thought, the
painted dream…but falling
left me empty and here

She reached out for my
cold skin, my love lay broken
next to me…she only saw
me with my sadness

I cajoled my soul to stop
convinced that the lies were
true…I laughed at the
sky and it’s colors

She ignored what couldn’t be 
seen, felt her way toward the
dream, the ground next to
me caught her fall

I forgave myself the theft, gave
back the idea and released the
sky to unfold, to grow back to
its original blue

She lay next to me, an eye
toward a future; bereft of
dreams, consisting of me and
the space reserved for her

I could only watch and plan
the next theft…and wonder
aloud, if tomorrow is tied
down tightly.

She sings the body golden, weeping as remorseful
tides return with an artificial swagger, her sigh felt
more than heard; an inky night fades into a sad
melody of crimson and the deepest of deep blues

Hello good morning; the sun breaks the sliver of the
horizon, our spinning piece of reality makes no sense
to her as we think ourselves masters and mortal gods
like we’re anything but chemicals and energy

She flies her way into the day breaking silent
and shining on seas on sands on moments that
man might term glory, might hail as god creating the
day again and again and again

She sends her message with clear conviction with
bright symbolism with nothing less than the idea that
her intrinsic light is more than the sum of itself plus what
we imagine it to be

She powers the moment and provides the motivation
feeding 7 billion souls all scrambling in the dirt of
misunderstanding and confusion…all striving to gain
what they fear they will lose

She rises in our imaginations only as she never strays
from her cosmic vantage point, her role embedded in
the depths of an emptiness completely beyond our
simple human measure

The boxes sat in the hall staring at ee cummings’ locked door,
waiting for her, for a moment that they could be freed from their
charges, their silent passengers; parts of her in pieces of paper
bags of socks, books about things she’s already read, clothes
memories and the other parts that she is when she isn’t in
her own mind

ee cummings lived behind that door—once—when he owned
the lock that divided it from everything else, when his breath
added molecules of perspiration, carbon dioxide and errant
specks of DNA to the great empty atmosphere blanketing the
place we call home earth dirt trees and people knowing and
not knowing us

She unlocks the door and helps the boxes across the threshold
kindly agreeing with herself that she should be unfurled removed
repackaged into the apartment once lived in by ee Cummings
she wonders—looking at the insignificance of shadows—is there
leftover bits and pieces of his psyche staining the small corners
the intransient nature of life

The wallpaper in the one room, the one to the left, imagined as a
thin walled box wrapped by plaster and lathing, a building built
around it, a door cut in a wall…two windows to the street…all but
performed a ritual acceptance; sadly content to have new
perspiration, carbon dioxide and errant DNA of someone not
ee cummings

The boxes collapsed and two dimensional, the wallpaper satisfied;
she unfolded bit by little bit into the space once owned by
ee cummings