Thursday, August 16, 2012

this world



I live in a world of silent words and un-constructed sentences

My pen doesn’t glide whenever I’m struck
Nor do birds surf the air whenever I need to know freedom

The questions strapped to my sides add more trouble than I care to negotiate
And this musical yearning finds walls of closed notes and deafened composers

I exist in the superficial layers of life 
(Subsist on the thinnest of air)
I float from one lily pad to another in the ritual search for authenticity
And reprieve

My chest pounds hardily and heavily in forbidden resolution
To will the rest of me to get stronger
To show the rest of me the tortuous beauty in these lessons 
We synchronize for one another and play like dominoes.

I ebb on the foam of waves
And shimmy to the bottom of gutter-less undergrounds
To pass the minutes or stomp out the incinerations who scald this inner-ear,
Poison this tightened tongue,
And persecute the justly rhythms I once believed to be my truths
(The world’s truths and love’s too)

As I watch the essence and bitters of me become mist sobered and hovering
Resting high above the chattering stencils of others
And projecting patches of muddled light in sporadic bursts 
I pray for an opportunity 
And a weight

I pray for rocks around which I will wrap my flesh
Bind my organs
And surrender to 

I will follow them in their natural descent
Through the stratified layers of time and earth.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

some things i have learned from picking blackberries

The big flashy ones are not always best;
The humbler ones are at times sweeter, softer, and tastier.

You shouldn’t have to work too hard to pull ‘em off the stem. They’ll come when they’re ready.  If you have to pull at all, it’s not time. Just let it lie.  Otherwise you’re gunna end up with an unripe berry, sour and resentful at being plucked.

The juiciest ones are the most elusive, hiding underneath scratchy leaves, barricaded by sword-like branches laden with piercing thorns.  But if you are diligent, and patient, you’ll find ‘em... more like, they’ll find you.

Just when you think you’ve combed the entire plant, an exciting splotch of cerise and violet catches your eye and beckons you to diagnosis its willingness to be plucked.

Stains are okay. In fact, they are inevitable.