Monthly Archives: October 2017

The Golden Mean

The light looks best in mornings,
and perhaps it’s because
my eyes haven’t yet adjusted
completely to the day
and my mind has yet to wrap
itself around comprehension
and so instead, I find myself
immersed in it; the light,
like a warm bath you’ve just
run for me and now sit on the side
and ask about the depth
of the bow at my upper lip,
as though you’ve always loved it,
and I have to wonder now,
if upon first sight, did your eyes
take measurements; of height,
depth, and width, and did you find
among it, the golden mean? For
is that not what this light feels like
in mornings? Immersed in all this
glowing, warm familiarity.

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Our Human Existence

We put blank pieces of paper in front of us
and wait for answers to come and present
themselves in words that form sentences,
or sometimes instead, questions we hadn’t
even thought to ask ourselves, or anyone
else, for that matter, that the pieces of paper,
if we stare long enough, we find, stare back
until it becomes a blinking, “don’t blink!”
contest of wits, or maybe it’s stamina, this
whole writing process of trying to convey
some kind of meaning, some kind of sense,
is in the way we arrange the typography
I guess, of this; our human existence.

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The Wild Horse

What strange peculiarities
thoughts are,
like the wild horse,
how unpredictable,
constantly changing,
like the sky, the wind,
the seasons,
all coming, all going,
all lovely in their own
rightful way of being,
with mood, emotion,
feeling as I do,
unquestionable,
without reason,
and how joy comes
so unexpectedly
through the doorway,
like the face
you always knew.

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Dreams on the Wind

Autumn comes to lull
Summer fast to sleep
as dreams fly about
like leaves on the wind,
and Summer wakes to yawn,
then sleeps again,
while Autumn works hard
to shorten the days.

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Tightrope Walkers

I don’t even know
where to begin,
when fear
of the future
wells up
inside of me,
and “you have
no idea,”
how much
time and effort
it takes me
to put on
this poker face
every morning,
straight as an arrow,
and from
the outside in,
“I look okay,”
but to walk
a straight line
nowadays
is a feat left for
the tightrope walkers
I watch with
so much jealousy now
I could almost
choke on
the thought of
having that ability
once again;
to walk so
effortlessly,
one foot in front
of the other
without the fear
of falling off
this string we all
must balance on –
called life.

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Something

Maybe he had a handshake
that felt like we’d met
somewhere before,
or a face I’d seen
in a crowd once
but never forgot,
perhaps while I was waiting
for a flight at the airport,
or maybe he’d been
in front of me in the line
at Starbucks while I dallied
on my phone
and tried to pretend
I didn’t notice the sheer
breadth of his shoulders,
or how the color of his hair
reminded me
of Edgar Allan Poe’s,
“Nevermore.”

But it was something,
as he took in my face
as though he were someone
who already knew me
and yet, for some reason,
wanted more,
that for a moment,
I almost felt uneasy
in my fear of his reality,
and real is what it felt like;
to be seen by someone
who wants to see,
even as the Raven sits
above the doorframe,
that I could not bring myself
to stare into his face
with the same intensity,
and so would often let my eyes drop
in admiration of his shoes
and how much they were worn.

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Fish Out of Water

The drugs;
I think I tire of them,
lack of efficacy,
failing body.
My neck reminds me
of a flapping
fish out of water,
bending at the
weight of my head
as though it were
a fishbowl
precariously
balanced now,
sloshing with water.
The goldfish,
gasping for air.
And I’ve noticed
how the gills,
they heave,
“in, out. Up, down.”
as though I were
watching an
aerobic exercise
in survival
in the presence
of this
unnamed disease
that wastes
the muscles
of a mermaid,
she was,
who only thought
she had legs.

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Give Me Reason

Give me reason
to find
the strength
to walk again.
Where feet,
light as a feather,
feel as though
I could
walk on air,
and gravity’s
insidious grip
is forced to
release me.
Where a hope
springs forth
of becoming
how I use to be,
that this might be
the beginning
answer
to my prayers.

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Elixir

I find my eyes
burn from
the weight of
“how many tears?”
And I know,
I should
“be stronger.”
To find
“courage, dear one,”
in the face of
all this uncertainty,
because how
can any of us
know our fate
with bones
collapsing?
That were never
meant to stand
against
all this infinity.
Not in this body.
But time,
“it keeps,”
wrapping itself
around me,
tighter everyday
like a snake,
that I couldn’t
loosen its grip,
even if I wanted,
with the taste
of saltwater
on my lips,
but they say
the sea will
heal me.
And so my
eyes continue
to leak
an ocean
that’s been
bottled up
inside me,
that they’d catch
all our tears,
if they could,
and sell them
as healing elixir.

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Lift

Such tiny elements
unperceived
by the eye
yet felt
by the heart.
Slight changes
in motion,
in movement,
as though
I have seen
the thoughts
of a crow
change before he
turns course
in the wind,
till the air
catches his wings
and he glides.
And is this not
how we should be –
in a life of least
resistance.

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