It fragments and fractures; this world this life of dimension and
dissatisfaction this dream of waking with both eyes seeing a
life worth living-being-having and all the while breathing in
and out and in the moment we think that it is clearly just
not enough.

This fear of missing of not having drives us forward drives us
crazy with a commercial giddiness best spent on PR for the
few who would benefit, the masses that would buy, the only
ones who would understand and ever (and always ever) the
lost among us.

Twenty four hours of every day we live—we are—we can see but
choose to look away…not from fear; from oblivious inattention
as nothing rises to our propagandized instinct to consume to
become instead or being who we are when we are…just…
who we are.

6 billion blame everyone but themselves as it makes no sense
when there is no culprit there is no enemy there is no
reason other than living to embrace when cars TV’s clothes
jets diamonds and gold conspire to build a bridge
to the everlasting.

We can’t go back this life we endure we live (we say) all
bundled with technology meant to compete with God meant
to replace our decisions…our role as ourselves…trained
and directed to say our lines on cue, on time and on
the spot.

We question the direction, the speed the friction supplied by
time itself but we can’t question our souls our meaning our
undetected enthusiasm for living a life laid on us like a rose
blanket across a casket…all the while dreaming that
we never stopped being alive.

We live in this world of consumer captivity this jail cell we
call “choice” while dreaming stripped and bare, essence and
aware…the us we can’t be when we are never allowed to see
past the end of a credit card; past the end of today, past
our own simple selves.

I come not to tear down, he said in forums long gone, and
it is the same now…we cannot destroy that which we are implicitly
connected to…this life this living this world we’ve created over
time, overhead, over and over toward a moment waiting
for us all.

With a sliver of sunlight sliding
sideways through
the window from the street
warming my thoughts like
shallow bath water
covers and warms my feet
I ‘m thinking of kindness
had, felt, joined and enjoyed
shared with abandon, trepidation,
suspense and relief…and
something I can’t reach
something of my own creation

I’m thinking of you, painting
a picture in my mind, waiting
for what is true, crying
for lost time.

The sunlight angles as the day
grows long and into
through and past morning
the sounds from the street
echo inside and around me
night comes past without warning
I’m thinking of sadness
not because it’s bad or that
it should be suppressed
but because it’s needed
and required when
I’m lonely and depressed

I’m thinking of you, watching
a picture in my mind, looking
for what is true, searching
for lost time.

Sunlight is almost a memory…
shining in the window
a streetlamp lights my dreams
illuminating the same I guess
without the warmth
at least that’s how it seems
I’m thinking of humanity;
kindness and sadness
a universe of ideas and motions
all living loving having;
losing, smiling…crying…
enough to fill up an ocean

I’m thinking of you, seeing
a picture in my mind, asking
for what is true, saddened
for lost time.

Now darkness; I haven’t moved
haven’t thought to or tried
to rearrange my past
have just watched it
felt it’s breath as it went by
a little stunned at how fast
I’m thinking of circles now
interconnected; a “start” is the
other side of an “end”
we’re the same and different
sane and confused
male and female, enemy and friend

it goes around,
I’m thinking of you,
it goes around,
a picture in my mind,
it goes around,
for what is true,
it goes around,
there is no lost time

it just goes around

I’ve said
before;
It’s hard, this
living, this
life I have
inside
outside
around and
through
me.
Matching the
going with
the coming
with
all that I
have and
don’t have
yet…
All that I
want, I
know I am
not
willing
able
to deny
who I am
I see when
I look
I don’t look
often
I face what
I’ve seen
I haven’t seen
enough
I will have
what I
have…will
want it
and dream;
I will
be
happy

Sometimes looking is unintended (and
unattended)…not “for” but “at”…simple observation
without standard without filter bias reason
just recording the scene; flipping digits in the
mental stream of consciousness
Sometimes being awake is less than looks, less than
knowing, less than having a dream of where
we all know we should be when we’re not
sleeping…not thinking about having to have
or having to have not
Sometimes we an occupy that limitless place where
the boundaries are more than distant, are
more than gone, are little bits of fond memories
left in a pile to rust to crumble to be
nothing once again
Sometimes we are never and sometimes we are always
but all times we are explicitly now and
all times are all times regardless of where we are;
where we think dream plan want to be and
instead are just here.

Consider our souls like they were people
like they had form; had places in the
physical world all waiting for us to give
them a ride somewhere…we’re 16 years old;
they are an 11 year old sibling wanting
wanting WANTING to go to the mall

How much do we listen, do we know, do we
care because it is duty, it is forced that
we go where we go or it feels so much
like that, so much a chain leading us to
sustenance, to dreams of not being
led…but we lie to ourselves…

Every day, today, we stare at billions
of choices of paths of ways to get from
there to here, here to there, past ourselves
and into a future unwritten but always
open to ideas schemes scenarios plans
and a path to put our feet

Nothing is so lost as an opportunity
not taken, a choice not made…swallowed
by the past, eaten by history with nary a
compliment to the chef…they become
detritus, dark ideas that litter our dreams
with regrets…

Our souls aren’t people with a place they
are us—we are them—we are all of who
we are and at our core, in the center of the
sun burning the center of the solar system
within us, we are choices all inter-coupled
all related and dependent on freedom

That is the shadow eater, the light that
shines into and past the broken edges
of our confidence; freedom to be, to fail,
to win, to always always always decide for
ourselves and if we consider our souls, we
are happy going to the mall after all…

Time is cruel like water
is wet like Death Valley is
hot but time is most cruel
to fashion; clothes, politics
morals…all fashionable all
die distracted and are
forgotten until they are
not…
magically, mysteriously
profitably resurrected or
parts are, tragic specifics
in most cases…gathered
and aggregated, connected
and deconstructed, re-done
undone like low cost healthcare…
eugenics with a fun twist!
Skorts or black leather pants
on the middle aged when
the middle is tragic in
itself…we laugh that time has
no allies no friends
with deep pockets—deep
sympathy—fashion needs
to die, needs rebirth, needs
fools and an unquenchable
desire for change…basically
us.

Words have a lot of uses,

really an amazing amount

descriptions and actions

…motives movement watch me

from here to there to tell you

everything I know to describe

…but…words sometimes

fail, fall on deaf ears, mean

nothing, mean different things

are just plain mean…and then

are useless…

A kiss that can’t be anything but goodbye

Looks that could kill

Eyes telling a story ears cannot hear

A palm stroking skin asking for love

We spend our lives inside

words inside meanings when

all of everything is around

us, silent and open, waiting

for our perception to get past

describing assigning labeling

and making nice little boxes

that it will fit inside…that

lines up exactly with what

we expect…

Words fall all around us we

see feel them every day all

the time we cannot escape

words, cannot live without

knowing having being our

words when…

in our heads souls hearts

under the thin of our skin

words don’t exist…

A kiss that can’t be anything but goodbye

Looks that could kill

Eyes telling a story ears cannot hear

A palm stroking skin asking for love

and

it is goodbye

it is death

it isn’t heard

and

it is love…

without words.

The line where land ends and seas part
ways, part as friends, as simple movements
mean less…more…but always a divide
between here and there; she feels the
grit of the morning…sand and shells and
time worn thin by repetition—to be
grown and birthed again and again
each day each moment a minor memory
warmth and life and sideways glances
to make sure eyes see past dreams.
She poses seeing a shadow…her…in
unison, in time she feels the strength of
fluid motion of momentary stillness all
connected in short frames, small steps
toward an end unseen, unfelt, unheard…
and waited for…the stillness an illusion
simply time between breaths, between
raindrops between her toes the sand
lets the water fall away…back toward
the line where land ends and seas part
where a relaxed sun reaches out with love
and generosity and takes her hand.

Hot sun on gun metal on backs on sand on jungle on ocean
on billions alive dead regardless of direction persuasion color age
location…all equal and worthy of its rays of it’s life given freely and
without need for recognition of ownership of motivation other than the
natural urge to transfer energy from there to here.

Into that transaction we humans put a system of relationship of
motivation of living with regard to who how when and why, we all
impose a meaning  where none naturally rests where none was
created in that spark in that furnace in that gloriously benign
center of where we revolve/resolve and endure our petty pain.

Years pass and we are fed have clothes shelter warmth we have time
to observe…with our huge capacity of thought we tell ourselves we
are bored, we compare this to that, us to them, all to nothing and only
see difference; what they have (we do not), what is here (what is not)
no one sees sameness compatibility coexistence or cooperation.

Comparison breeds contempt breeds anger breeds association;
a collective understanding (finally) about destroying difference in order
to create peace…where originally the sun simply warmed all in its path
before our magnificent flawed petulant fearful too big brains convinced
us that something is always better than nothing.

The dirt earth ground beneath becomes the vehicle upon which difference
is enshrined in which ownership is resolute and immutable when
inherently we humans know, feel, have in our blood; the ground moves,
the sky does not…when maps become the only reality that counts
when we count down to Armageddon…

Mountain, road, river, border; lines on paper, many lines erased and
rewritten, moved from this side to that side…aligned with fascism
democracy racism imperialism nationalism protectionism…large
words with small meanings leading to hate and inviting death
for a session of staring and opportunism.

So over and over death stares assiduously across mountain, road, river,
border creating a visual tunnel, locking onto our stares, watching
for opportunity motivation absence and assumption…sees
nothing but what it knows will be the future, knows
will be the way from here to there…death has no choice.

We are bored, our large complex brains, and the sun’s rays are no more
noticeable than a reality show, a dog sweater, frequent flier’s miles, collagen
implants, religion, ethnicity, sex, volcano’s, war’s, or the vast array of
mustard selection at the local grocery store…a trillion trillion suns all shining
on a trillion many more lumps of dirt.

Our sun’s rays, falling 93 and a half million miles across frigid emptiness
across one year of time, across the doorstep of tomorrow cares nothing
of mountain, road, river, border…it is life in the form of free energy of
the willingness of the universe to share to create and be created over
and over again regardless what is in it’s path.

Here or not here, same of different, right or wrong means exactly one
hundred percent of nothing to our sun…billions of years in the past though
billions of years into the future…our big complex brains notwithstanding
we create what is meaningless, we kill over what is nothing, we are (in
comparison) the same as the dirt we live on.

The person we trust least is the person we know best…who
smiles back from mirrored walls from Facebook photos from
memories of childish laughter and feeling free without
feeling guilt…we look at ourselves rarely fully completely only
in slices and through half closed eyes.

We bump up against our own boundaries if we’re lucky, if
we can, we watch and wait while mysteries deepen while
motivations gather while inside we rejoice while outside it
is raining…and the song won’t remain (the same or otherwise)
because we’ve seen the end and it is us.

Molecules banging off molecules; atoms of matter all
running hell and high water toward endings and beginnings
lost dreams sitting looking pretty…a manifesto of
liberation of mindless & miniscule mistakes driving
the end and beginning of humanity as we know it.

Bullets and boomboxes line up along the threshold of
knowing, of seeing past what we could never see when we
seek to catalog, to label, to sell to our consciousness
that we are anything other than alone and desperate
for another shadow beside our own.

The papers say that we’re afraid and more and more every
day we are but we are because of the news, because we
believe things outside of us that we would never believe if
it came from inside, if we taught ourselves these
disappointments…learned distraught and despair

There is no universal truth that applies, that will heal the
wounded, salve the unsalvageable…we are all alone and
this is our strength, our will to be, because alone is only a
perspective and we have millions…billions of individuals
different and the same, connect and disconnected

I love you them us humanity by loving me, by awareness of the
limitless edge of my soul and yours and ours and everything
…by knowing that alone is how I connect but together is
how I feel, how I am, how we all move in motion toward an
end that is not.