The Madness of Men

I heard from three men in March and the search for meaning is on.  It takes three to get me drunk.  Death happens in threes.  Three is the magic number.  Each one unearthed the madness of wanting them entirely at different stages of my life.  They fearlessly made promises by professing illusions.  Talk about fear of commitment.  My exit strategy was sloppy, sad, and full of rage.  A typhoon crashing into a Beach Boys listening party.  Nothing is real when I'm stumbling, but Tom Collins was a boy once.  That's what I tell myself again and again and again.

what T.S.Eliot said

Woman Running

I run alone in Central Park sometimes 

In the sections where there are no street lamps in sight. 

Imagining that in a big city lives big eyes

Everywhere watching 

I couldn't possibly get swallowed by night.

In the dark corridors footsteps are muted by dirt

And in the breeze I trip over rocks I didn't see 

Falling for a long time until I've scraped a knee 

Maybe it's my mouth that bleeds.

I think about what it feels like to lay underneath. 

Why I didn't check my fingernails

Clean them out in a hot shower before crying myself to sleep.

to really know something

Seen & Heard

* Holding an uncle's hand. Stroking a brother's hair. Hovering over the foot of a best friend's bed.
* Nam-myoho-renge-kyo and dreams of a love of his life whispering while Chet Baker croons.

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Breaking Silence

I broke the silence like a broken record last night.  A free diver shouting "you matter!"  Even the bitch of a fish with the big teeth and a lightbulb saw it coming.  Not morbid curiosity, but real compassion.  I plunged into blackness where bottom feeders run amok.  I am crabs.  So many all of us except for when the vibrations are overwhelming and it was never his but yours.  The tiny hairs and a sonic heartbeat.  The sharp edges becoming wings and we fly over the horizon to catch the light before it burns out.  That light is yours not his.  You feel sun not him.  And the waves cover my ears.

How Am I Not an Alcoholic?

How am I not an alcoholic?  I've asked.  Often.  Facing a mirror.  In the Shower.  At the bar.  On a couch.  When I'm stupid.  To my closest friends.  To strangers who listen.  Like my emotional affair.  After the breakup.  A New Years Eve meltdown.  During the jazz crooning years. And my hiatus from sleeping.  In the darkest room. I can't seem to shake.  With the right spirit, you can pretend to know all the secrets.  Tell the ones you weren't curious about.   Poetry tumbler out of your mouth.  The kind that doesn't rhyme or isn't metered. Spilling fantasies on a silk blouse.  Head splitting into endless combinations of letters into words into sound under a paper umbrella and modesty tears everything apart.  But I dance better when I don't drink.

water ballet

Unable to perceive the shape of 

You, I find You all around me. Your 

presence fills my eyes with 

Your love, It humbles my heart, For You 

are everywhere.

A Vanishing Life

x: I feel lost.  I don't know how to make things anymore.  

y: Lost can be good. Without lost you can't find truth. Stay lost a little while.

Seen & Heard

Seen: Dancing in August and remembering it's ok to remember last August.

Heard: ... the "letting go"... people say this, but I've realized (by being so bad at it...) that one never does. You accept and love what it was. Hearts are thriving, pulsating, permeable things. They can in-love again if you let them. Be open.

Goodbye Spring

I fell in love with a predator. Cocoon living attracts that sort of thing. Spinning pupa out of control. Sun burning bright. I suffocated in delight. I fell really hard busting my pupa head. Those owl eyes feeding on a slippery mess. You'd think I'd land on my feet or tail or that soft, squishy part in the very back where I know what death looks like. I didn't. I didn't when I was writhing in it and everything grew moldy and thick. I didn't before my smoking wings flew me into the heat of dusk. I didn't because Spring has a pattern like a narcissist and I fell in like a parasite.

i can't go back

Words Memorial

We all make our choices. 

The hard part is living with them.

A Vanishing Life

Green like an Oli(ve)

Hard Transplant

"It's supposed to be heart. If it wasn't heart, everyone would do it.The heart is what makes it great."

It was a musical thing...

A Vanishing Life

The point of this exercise is to make memory your friend and not your enemy.  From one sensitive skin to another.

A Vanishing Life

Gratitude and fear can not coexist.  Thank you, Skipper, for this gem.