A long and empty highway…way out, way out where no one knows the moment you disappear,
knows the exact instant that the horizon behind you seeps through and you finally feel the fear
where no one is a stranger as much as they are the deepest person you’ve ever known…
where you ultimately understand who you are when you’re holding that 3 AM phone

You are who you are and who you’ve always been

I look out on the long simple movement that
we call life, call existence…like we call the ambulance, like
we call for a second opinion…and I see nothing
that I’d ever expect.

I don’t know what’s worth dying for, maybe
that’s the beginning of the problem, maybe
that’s where the answer ends…all or nothing;
all or…everything else.

The vibrations that lie underneath the living we do, the love we have, the moments we keep in our pocket
risees above the surface enough for us to feel…to finally feel alive…yet what we do is turn off that socket
not because it’s too heavy or immovable or something that blinds us with it briliance and shine
but because its what we can’t have, can’t decide, can’t devote enough to and ultimately can’t define.

It is what it always is and always will be

I look out on the long simple moments that
we call happy, call joy…like we call the police, like
we call for a second helping…and I see nothing
that I’d ever want.

I don’t know what’s worth dying for, maybe
that’s the beginning of the problem, maybe
that’s where the answer ends…all or nothing;
all or…nothing.

I’ve been on that long highway…I’ve felt the vibrations as they radiated out and through and became
those things we keep in our pocket, that we don’t light anymore, that will never be the same
and what I’ve seen has led me to where I am, who I am and, maybe, maybe one day who I will be
I am scared, fearful and shivering, but it is something I hope that will be the thing to set me free

And be…just be.

We all think we are unique, we
look at the shadow following us, watch us in the mirror
watching our lives play out…details
in ink and crayon, paint and plaster.

All of them grown from seeds planted by others, by
lives we’ve lived before…are living now, but
pretending—only pretending—to see what
we know we can’t…we try anyway.

We think we are unique seeing ourselves through
eyes we own, senses we grew into, minds
that evolved from miniature versions of us…all
with the intent to be honest.

We are the same as the life behind any door, behind
the idea that the mirror is the same only
backward…the same only not , we are
adrift knowing what we don’t know.

Where we are truly unique…is a place where no
one sees; silence sits on the divide where we
never go, the point where light refuses to reflect
emotion ceases to vibrate…

In the places we are afraid to know.

We question the price of exclusivity, the cost
of difference; cross referenced with pain, the
servitude and the habit of living subservient
lives and still still still…

We are not different if we can’t afford to look, can’t
describe the variance, unable in strength nor
honesty…if we try, if we try…our inability
leads us to conformity and ubiquity.

Toward faux uniqueness we agree to be the same, noting
in the book that we feel love lose want sense need have and
ultimately are the same as the next life, and
the next and next  and next and next…

We are all unique in our sameness and that is
life is love is hope peace happiness…is how we
create a world where difference only applies to  where
the milk and bread go in the grocery aisle
  

Mornings seem empty, I think
as the coffee in the cup, the surface
vibrates…absorbing the sound of
nothing; me. This room.
In my mind I reach out with stretched hand, with
fingers extended pointing stiff trying to
bring back that which
is gone.
I am sorry sometimes…most times, all times…when I
think that I taught you
to cry…and
I’ve never wanted to be that teacher, just wanted
to be taught, but
I can’t get away from me, the
gravity of myself; the weight of
thoughts ideas dreams feelings vague notions…all piled on
top of my life. And
I know I am not smart enough to see
where anyone else
can fit on that cart. I think
sometimes…most times (all times) that
the coffee cup is better than me, better
when it absorbs sound
translates frequency into
movement motion ripples across its flat
surface. Something
I can’t seem to do and I think that
being the teacher
is something none of us
can avoid…if,
we ever want to
be taught.

The water seems too far above me, the
surface a shimmering ceiling, a
far away point of light, a
star…but
I’m not drowning only seeing what I am believing, being
who I am dreaming; waiting
to breathe again.

What I think and what I say and
who I am today and
where I find myself when I finally open
my eyes to
look…is nothing no one nowhere but-
but-but I can’t don’t want to believe what
I know is real

Swimming is nothing if not a slo-mo run toward
a horizontal somewhere; a floating idea of
motion movement sliding slipping into the
future…but
not where I have ever imagined that I should could would
be once I realized I needed
to breathe again.

What I think and what I say and
who I am today and
where I find myself when I finally open
my eyes to
look…is nothing no one nowhere but-
but-but I can’t don’t want to believe what
I know is real

The idea of water is so intimate and connected, to
me you us them everyone inside out and our
flowing warm blood reflects the oceans, the
world…but
grounded we stand wait hold try to live our lives
while alone, while we try
to breathe again

What I think and what I say and
who I am today and
where I find myself when I finally open
my eyes is nothing if
not the ability
to breathe again.

In my head, in
my head, the dreams
are all but dead…and
I wait for you

In my haste, in
my haste, the lies
that went to waste…and
I wait for you

In my past, in
my past, some things
were never asked…and
I wait for you

I’ve stolen this song from a dream I had
of someone singing it to me
watching her eyes as they fell into sad
from a future that was never to be

I’ve accepted my madness like I know I should
based on the fact I know who I can’t be
but I know, but I know…I would if I could
let go of those words and break free

In my dreams, in
my dreams, nothing
is ever as it seems…and
I wait for you

In my pain, in
my pain, nothing
is ever the same…and
I wait for you

Those aren’t my words; they were sung to me
I simply repeat them in order to hold onto her pain
I see them, I feel them…they are now a part of me
and I will never, ever be the same

In my head, in
my head, the dreams
are all but dead…

I watched the water drip from broken tiles, from
an empty life, from
places where the lines never crossed, where
the horizon met the sky.

I saw the fear in their eyes, from
distant miles, from
places where I am afraid to feel, to
acknowledge.

I felt the rough justice of nature, of
letting sins run free and getting caught and
paying the high price of
living.

I saw and I felt and I watched and I
knew that I was apart, separate in
happiness…
together in sadness
complete only in the sense that things are a set;
unconnected.

I heard the heartbeat of a child, and
laughter…and
made the mistake of
wondering what to
think.

I smelled the deep anger of a waiting world, waiting
on my own incompetence, on
my inability to join, to pair, to
create one
from
two.

I cried and cried alone but an aloneness born
of DNA, of need, of
contracting…receding… despair

I heard, I smelled and I cried and
the lines never cross, the
horizon continues to hold steadfast
to the
edge
of the sky.

I feel the universe like a thing, a
mostly moving sometimes
slowly never stopping
thing.

I feel the stars align out somewhere
there or there or there but
always always out of
reach.

I feel time edge past me like
passing in an aisle, a row, a
shifting shuffle toward the
end.

I feel your skin on my skin, on my
mind, on the softness of the
wind…whistling lowly slowly below
hearing.

I feel the question in the air, in
the moments between breaths, between
what I need and what I
want.

I feel you…as the stars align, as the
wind sings softly, as time bumps
into my side on its way toward
tomorrow.

I feel the answer out there, just the
edge of it, just an outline, just
out of reach but there, or
there
or
there.

We look in the mirror, the one we hold inside, in
that place where the darkness barely hides us, where
our eyes hurt from the light of our failures, our
weaknesses, our humanity…
We look in the mirror and see who
we are…sometimes…not often.

The hard bit is not the seeing part, that’s
simple easy smooth quick not
complicated…everyone sees
everyone’s eye’s process light, fire up
neurons, charge synapses…
see what they see.

Few, however, do so without fear, without
filters fantasies forgetting fog of conscious
and consequential reality…most
all maybe
most see what they want to see…even
if most (all maybe)
don’t even know what
they want.

It’s that singularity; the truth about lies, that
creates the angst, the tension, the pressure, the
inevitable motion toward a preventable future
toward an ending predictable repeatable believable and
wrong…not the one we need want desire…the
one we get.

Drop the filters fantasies forgetting fog of conscious
and consequential reality and
fire up neurons, charge synapses… see what you see
when seeing is what
you simply completely entirely totally …do.

See
yourself
through eyes
of wonder, of amazement, of
honesty and love…and
lose the hurt
of
humanity.

I think sometimes we look around ourselves
like we have just woken up, opened

our eyes…and see
things we don’t recognize, don’t know
think we haven’t seen before but
but
someone said earlier "I know I created this"
and we all do…we all do.

Now with eyes open we
wonder…how
did we get to this
place point moment time and
wait for a sign that we are
anywhere
else.

We’re not.

But the place point moment time we
are at has some meaning, some
weight and solidity…some piece
of reality and we remember, we
feel the face of yesterday peek
over the shoulder of
today.

Yesterday we were strong, we were
confident peaceful mostly mostly
mostly…happy…mostly not
what we are
today.

Tomorrow I want to be yesterday
but
with newness, with
difference but
without the memories
of today…and
I know it can, that I can…
because I do it
every
day.