Tiny Houses

Everyone I know lives in tiny houses
and their rooms are always filled
with such splendor. Through two inch
windows I peer, out of fear, which everyone
knows but nobody will admit. In is where
we want to fit.

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Regard

We move like swing sets,
the rag-doll fox and I.
Purchased at an antique store
to consider me from her shelf.

Naked green eyes.

I want that swell behind my
chest.
She wants paper airplanes and
trying your best.

Our melancholy rests between us.

How

To find out how

I’ve traveled miles in pursuit of my salvation
So many friends embraced just as strong as my vices foul

I’ve gone through phases and faces and spaces
For years
I’ve captured experiences and laughter and moments
And fears

I’ve passed through everything passing through me
A hundred suns lighting all I could see

And all I could see was all that there was
Each joy and scar and their dance through my loves

All the mystery therein and wonder I could find
I could just sit in the middle of it all and unwind

Unwind
Unwind…

That is all done now.

In these shards is richness
In these bones some gold
In your eyes a quickness
A lightning-laughter within the fold

It is all beginning now.

Uncover…
Uncover

Uncover the swell of nerves, the second thoughts
The pounding of my fear from within its box

Each stilted perfect line of logic heeding caution
Falls victim to our choice, fierce will in blossom

One heart shedding light on that deep room locked within
Once reserved for love unspoken for family and deepest sin

We’ll go through places and faces and spaces
And fears
We’ll embrace each other as we build our legacy
For years

Falling towards your falling towards all good will allow
I think we’ve many miles of hand holding left

To find out how

Faithful Fabric

Oh, my poor soul.

It is always preparing for,
longing for,
the happiness for which it was woven.

Those moments between blocks,
between clocks, between the toil
of what seems the impossible task
of securing our false securities.

Even when captured, serenity, we
balk in her presence. For that clamor
we escape is greedy indeed, pulling at
our time and attention, seeking to
destroy the seeds of peace within
our fabricated storms.

The world, it seems, has little patience
for those who tire of its antics.

My essence, my spirit, should abandon
ship! What faith it is imbued with to remain
aboard this vessel; bending its being to cater to.
What strength needed to stay, tattered and
torn, retaining its patient form.

Though I hear its cries.

I hear them in those times-between-times.
As the day turns itself inside out,
as the lighting of my mind reflects nature-
sun setting, both sides of the coin overlapped.

On the precipice of each mini-oblivion that
punctuates even my prime, the same soft
sentiment echoes from within. Glancing
whispers from that radiant servant indentured
to the paltry needs of the physical and forced:

“Why are you so far from saving me?”

11/17/17

What can I say?

Today is the best day.

I read somewhere that true beauty throws open the doors to something else.
Points to something greater.
Paradoxically breaks the chains of desire and reminds you of something you never knew but contains every joy from every ounce of good ever felt since the beginning of time.

I read all that stuff years ago. And there were some times I felt I knew what it all meant. I didn’t.

But today, I think I’m starting to.

What can I say?

My wife has this radiance. And it is distracting.

Hopeless (The Wolf)

I want for nothing save
the safe construction of our home.
I want for nothing save
the painstaking effort in building
something to call our own.

But

What is the point
when I know I will lose hope?
I will give up,
I will let the darkness overtake.

That is the point.
I know I will lose hope.
I will give up,
I will let the darkness overtake.

I am always all I am.
Am I all I could be?

One day that wolf will come down
from the mountain.
The mountain that is so far away.

My faith like a flashlight
paling to the black.
Catching the tracks and serrated breath
lingering in the cold air
as the wolf bounds just ahead.
Just beyond.

Exhaling curses under my breath,
our whispering traces mingle.
Whipping the light through the trees,
pounding the casing and regretting
never changing those batteries.

A threat dissolving with the night.
Absorbing my resolve.
And I will have nothing.

Nothing but

That which we built.
Descending sword will meet our hilt.
Let us not allow our humanity
to stain our consciences with guilt.

While both mountain and wolf are far away,
let us build something to hold onto
come that trying day.

Euphorically Episodic

Notions float undiscovered in the seas of this life;
Ideas and experiences that could capsize any vessel
So sure of its construction.

How strange a blessing, the fickle fragility of purpose.

We took brushes to each other in the back woods,
Dusting in search of traces worth note;
Fingerprints often cause concern rather than the thanks they deserve.

How honest a posture, beauty moving on its own accord.

I want to take the very notion of momentum and turn it inside out.
There is no grand finale or sniveling ending to this life,
Only the ever beautiful, and the choice to partake.

Crescendo’s and climaxes go hand in hand;
Because we force them.

Moments lead to bigger moments;
Because we expect them.

Sights meant to be serenaded;
Stuffed and shared.

Hands were meant to hold, not clutch and release.

And I could write about your hands for ages.

But for every eternity I spend with you,
I cut my thanks short.

I hope you understand.

I wouldn’t want to miss another.

Redirect (Mesh Echoes)

This is the last time
Was all that left your lips
As the grandiose grenade of
New beginnings was pulled
From your belt

Your fingerprints left on the pin
Though the explosion will surely
Destroy all the evidence

But no one could have known
That time would suspend right
After the device did implode

Cataclysm encapsulated
It seems I should have waited
But no one could have known

Decisions regressed
Time compressed
Burning sphere’s threat suddenly undressed

All that time to suspend
All that time to mend
All that time to dance around the
flame’s licking tongues turned orange
flower pedals, death somehow exchanged
for a blooming sunset unfurling in a
winter’s globe

All that time to reframe
All that time to contain
All that time to leave behind the
kaleidoscope red as it falls just
out of harms way, soft as burnt
paper floating amongst exasperated
escape plans

The glowing orb hanging, suspended
over the ground and our disbelief the same.
I imagine it has felt so long because
the power to stop such a detonation
is one that has been ingrained within
the marrow of existence deeper than we think

Our bones have long been strengthened for this moment
Only now has choice brought us to the brink

And when the explosion chooses to pause
In the face of all the doubt and of all the fear;
Echoing among the fiery frozen tendrils
The choice rings astoundingly clear.

The Breeze Will Stop To Listen

We are far worse than we ever dared to believe; each filled to the brim with corruption and hypocrisy, especially on stages we construct and call divine.

We are loved more than we ever dared to believe; pause to look out the window and past your eyes, pause at the branch of the tree delicately kissing the sky.

What is so similar a portrait to our soul yet nothing alike? What possesses beauty more transcendent than the reaches of our pride?

While I search for the answer, for an analogy so complete as to map out the
constellations of our cells, there remains a grounded fact upon which I dwell:

I don’t have room.

There is an inverse relationship to the amount of love I carry for my neighbor, and the amount of love I carry for the whole world wide.

I find myself unable to maneuver the intimate hallways of my life without shutting out humanity and all its strife.

I find myself unable to call upon ideals transcendent without giving up the patience and care upon which my intimate relationships are dependent.

There is an other to this puzzle. There is a solution without. There is a bridge between my fertile comprehension and my permeating doubt.

I suppose this is why the notion of faith makes me want for nothing except to step outside. To listen to what dialogue I can between the branches and the sky.