Absolution

As the din dimmed, I collapsed into a solid point—
I tensed my reason and lost it whole.
I stood at eclipse’s edge. Saw the rime of light
shutter—then overtake me as well. 

What awaited, however, was not the expected void
but a vastness uncomprehended: singularity.

I understood at that moment of swallowing
there was an ever deeper delve.

So now, my friend,
I travel inward and am weightless.

Protector Maintains

Drained and nearing depletion—
Protector! Anger, Joy, Compassion
kept at Distance vigilantly. He sits Alone
while being guarded—no filling up.
It is a brutal sensation of waiting while drowning—yes,
Protector maintains.

Touched

(was mostly bored with this one and ehhh, just posting)

I worry I’m not getting out—

I worry I’m rule-governed. I mean,
it fits the contexts all around me—
with my very own hands
I simulate a reality that keeps me ehhh.

At the very most it wakes me up
and puts me to sleep—it is a long, long
waiting. It is a long, long wondering. It is a long, long while
until it’s shook all out of me.

And I’m shaking. I’m shaking and rattling and either
I’ll fall to pieces and diverge myself further or
scatter into reality equally separated.

I worry that all the while I’ve seen it as it is.
Simply and honestly but ignorant.
I’ve looked upon the naked body of God and like
Adam I extended a finger and was touched.

I don’t know what to do with it…

I worry that right now   is     the real test:
to stay true no matter the heartache.

The Final Scream

In the end there will be a great popping sound—the final scream—then *poof*
We will all participate in it—our long stretch of DNA and possibilities—
those things known and unknow wherever we are, whoever we are.

All across the brow of God—the final reckoning, a crease—

where the universe completes itself (and if you haven’t yet—you will).

You see...

all along we’ve been pandering for a purpose and all along it’s been to rest.
“I don’t know what to tell you. You know...here we are.

It’s not glorious, the end—look—how could it be? I didn’t plan it all just for you.”

--!

Therapy

My insides have dissolved inside this sack of skin I was given.
I may look a moth but I’m a butterfly now.
I’ve shifted neurons—while everyone who knows me treats me the same.
Difficult. Hard. Impossible. But I did it.
I’ve separated everything from me.
I’m drinking nectar now.

What does it take?

What does it take to be loved?

Once love is delivered, there is a moment:

the second you take it to mean
you’re something else…

it’s removed--

made all about you.

Learning How to Die

I’m learning how to die.

Either I’ll know it—or it’s sudden—

or I’ve lost my mind.

 

I’m learning how to die.

I’m freeing myself, now. I’m letting go—

of birth—delusion.

Around My Head

Around my head are all the words that ever been said—

and it’s not an oasis. More of a sinkhole.

I feel as if the more you know the more it’s a gravity well—

the light bends toward me but never lands.

And since it’s all impressions and fading visions—

well, my heart’s never made the decision.

It swirls around me and I am the eye,

but the calm is more indifference than respite.

In the end, while I’m laying there…

God will wash me of my consciousness.

The Coming Thunderstorm

I stood at the window hoping it was the door.
I could see skies of grey and woeful rainfall—
I breathed out and the fog was the fog on the glass.
This ache in my heart, where can I find more?
Through the TV I heard your sobs and turned to listen:

“Don’t go looking for marigold out in the field.
You’ll pluck something that feels too real.”

All along the fence, isn’t it apparent!?
Rest In Peace and roses, too. In the night,
candlelight—I turned it off.

Out there, simple men roam, and I can see
their button-ups and tank-tops. They hobble from foot to foot
searching for the enemy between the trees.

All the while the mist hangs low, the droplets bead,
and all is melancholy.

BLM Protest, Great Hwy San Francisco

I heard shouting from my rocking chair—
it came through the window while combing through my hair.
The stomping loud and clear, like ringing in my ears,
called me out into the beating heat—I saw it rising—
shimmering truth, oh! Oh take me there!
As I plunged my hands beneath the surface—
it wasn’t a mirage! —I was soon submerged.
Drowning, I learned—right before the light
I heard the voice: all is in my image.

Now I wouldn’t go there, but I’m going to:
I’m tired and exhausted and these last few years
I had nothing to do but all of my worries—
always nervous in such a hurry.
I shut down and ordered my food.
Never moved or wanted to—
flipping in an out at the news—
got in my head, like in all of you.

Honestly, we’re all imploding
and I can’t take the fear that grips my heart.
It’s now or never for forever—imagine 2020
again and again on the restart.

Black Lives Matter

BLACK LIVES MATTER!!!!!!!

Music Journal: Disco Volleyball

This is something I put together during quarantine. 

Music Journal: A Safe Place From the End Times

This is something I put together during quarantine. :)

Bacon-wrapped Dog on Mission St., 2am

Making like an assfish tryna get home.
None of them are high but still they wanna bone.
If they find a waste-line, you know they’ll have a good time;
maybe like a cigarette or a bee-sting, man.

They swimming like a blue thing right into the minivan.
Someone laughing, “Hit you with a stink ray--don’t you miss this flight!”
Someone, then someone, then someone, then clapping--
clapping, clapping, clapping--as the engine roars.
They headed down the highway, they vacate air...

Licking off a grease stain, I waved goodnight to the long-hair.

Thank You

I walk day to day
and watch each sunrise
glide from triumph to twilight.

I walk beneath the new moon.

I stop at each moment,
not once wishing for what I was, nor wondering who I’d be.

Nowhere is melancholy,
only wonder. Peace.

An understanding that what will be,
will be. It’s even funny.

All of it brings me joy,
even the fear of death-- the day the universe demands of me.

Lift Her Up

Sorry, I’m not a dinosaur,
little girl. Just a daddy

stomping through the yard.
Sun coming through the air--

in your eyes, you shine,
arms out-stretched towards me--

I come and chomp you up.

This is outer space, moving
round so fast it's only memory.

Oop! Up you go, and there you cheer,
“Again! Again! Again!”

Hopeful, wishful wonder--
I should never let you down.

It’s all as you imagined.

Too hard to hear the hate.

For some reason I didn’t think it was out there.
Always believed treat others how you want to be treated.
But just recently learned I’m white.
Now the thing feels like a giant hole where I thought skill and perseverance were.
Turns out no.
And all my life I thought I was a decent fellow.
Something too devastating to grasp made it so.

...too hard to hear the hate.
It crushes my heart—it’s done in my name.

It's fair. I'll do it. I'll feel this way.

The Vision on Mt. Ararat

The problem with reaching the mountaintop—
and it’s not this part: seeing the complete whole,
the beauty of the view laid out like
glorious and happy possibilities—it’s the walking down.
The vision slowly consumed—trees get taller...
the horizon more jagged, less smooth; until it is
above your head, until you’re in it.
What once was clear and straight
is now a hundred thousand miles away.
I don’t even know which way the path turns, now.
I didn't pay attention to the winding lines, and
will there be water along the way?

Look at yourself

The ability to own yourself, your emotions—your essence—to see your wants and values, to see your blessed life and ever blessed breath reap the goodness that is this Earth, to see all you are before your self, the universe, the Lord, to see the total accumulation of all that is in essence and in reality, is to see YOU:

To see this—to see this and to look upon someone else and claim before all things, before your mind’s ear and eyes—your consciousness—to choose to deny the life, the experiences, the dignity, the truths of another? If you deny your neighbor’s plot, you deny your own; if you deny their tribulations, you deny your own—your toils and heartbreak, joys, fear, wonderment, passion and ferocity, sexuality—foundations of the life that is yours, that you made. To claim that the Earth has made them poorly is completely, utterly, unfathomably foolish; to march against anyone, to label, to jeer, to mock or punish, to hurt or even ignore in the most passive of ways; to do such things is to march against all of humanity’s long, grueling history of finding—seeking—wanting to know what exactly, as persons, we are: That dream, that beautiful dream that sings with such sweet longing: to realize, to realize, to realize... To deny such things is to deny the nature of the universe, is to deny God’s plan, is to deny those secrets you would never tell another soul, and in doing so, say there is a part of you that does not exist. If you cannot accept another, in whole, you cannot accept all you could ever be.

The Question

Everyone is losing
something precious:
opportunities, possibilities, feelings
we can never get back.

How aren’t you?