A pearl grows from imperfection

An irritant of a grain of sand

Hidden in lonesome darkness

Swallowed by misfortune

Where it takes time to become –

Become beautiful

Become wise

Become priceless

In all of our eyes

This wonder wrapped

In opalescent patience

Is timeless treasure

Waiting to be found

Waiting to be seen

i dreamt the sun crashed to earth
a bright star fallen
leaving the land in ever-night
and now each day begins in fear
that the fire burning within
isn’t enough to light the world
but it really has to be
like the lava on the slopes of Aetna
it may cast shadows
but at least we will be able to see

if my words cannot change the world
then hope has fallen into awaiting hell
if this ink cannot turn cold hearts
and create life in the dead places
why write anything at all anymore
were these phrases and stanzas
ever water falling in the desert
or has it all just been a dream
of a fiction only imagined
but could never be grasped
because when i reach
there is nothing to take hold of

i thought i was making the sun rise
and sending the pale moon
to sail silver across our living skies
but now i have begun to wonder
if these things happen on their own
and i am a child playing at pantomime
before a theatre of empty chairs
a boy seeking to create joy
but spreading only pain
a sandstorm rising from a dry heart

but perhaps tomorrow,
the rosy light that grows
along the eastern horizon
as twilight gives way to dawn,
perhaps that will be my doing

I want to unthink some things

To clear away the sewage

Let me undecide the decided

As if time were fluid

And I could swim

In any direction

What a horrible fantasy

That dream would be

To walk in the forest of the past

Is to become lost in false familiarity

Because it all looks the same

But everything is different

Like returning home

After 50 years has passed

It’s not yours anymore –

You left.

Look

I am feather upon the wind

Drifting with the currents

Now high and into the sun

Now diving desperately down

Into the dank, black valleys

Where no shadow dwells

For all is captive darkness;

Would that i could

Surf the climes between the two

Wherein light and dark

Are both in view

To take control

And glide the places I choose,

What a thing this would be

what?
what is this place?
where am I?
how did i get here?
contained,
pressed into this skull,
like infinity in a jar;
it never feels natural,
like having one shoe
smaller than the other;
there’s something wrong,
like the bit being pulled
to hard to the right
and we’re moving in circles
until the ride is done
and the bridle is removed.

What do you write poetry about

If not love and loss

Perhaps pastoral settings

The deer in the field

Or maybe the birds

That fly above it all

But who would read it

And why…

No it’s death and betrayal

Or nothing at all

It’s been a while

Since I’ve been drunk;

Like fall down, throw up

So you can drink more,

Black out drunk;

A sort of

Let the chips fall

where they may

Maybe I won’t survive

Kind of drunk;

The kind of night that mixes

Hot knives, hash, and cocaine

After five or six beers

Kind of drunk;

It’s been a while,

But somehow, ironically,

You never forget.

There wasn’t supposed to be an end

The days would go on and on

And you would be there

Like you were in the beginning

A presence holding it all together

More than family, also friend

And i always thought forever

Was supposed to be longer

I always thought that life

Was supposed to be stronger