Dangerous country you shouldn’t be in it again you were in it before and it did you no good and now you’re back and looking for that lost house you left your things in only now it’s more hidden that it was and the woods crawl with teeth and claws
“People die easier than some promises and some dreams”
That’s what’s on the sign post that’s mikes behind you now
Where do you go when it rains?
Do you find a nook somewhere, a branch, an overhang?
Are you by yourself or with others?
Do you count the minutes, and is it excruciating?
I’ll bet you merely sit somewhere, and wait, and watch, and the rain
goes as it comes
Barely noticed, just a thing that happens when it happens
It’s over now—you get a drink or take a bath
A puddle is good enough
I stand outside, looking for you
Looking for the simplicity of you
Everything rains on me
I wish I could wait, and watch
But what I see is the passing of the time that is left
And the water that spoils it
I was enough
Was was was
The younger me, blind and ignorant in the moment, was sufficient. Generous. Transcendent. Charming.
Today I’m less
Less is not more
I’ve shrunk against your yardstick
And you know it
And measure me every chance you get
Between what I am and what I’m not is the problem
It’s never the measuring, is it?
Today the plumbing came alive and tried to kill me.
You wouldn’t think a toilet would be so angry, but I suppose someone sitting on you and crapping into your open mouth… it would piss me off.
The drain system was fed up. “You guys do too much laundry and I’m caked up with soap and grease.. and use different tolet paper. I hate that quilted shit.”
We try our best, but… you are plumbing, you know. And we are not, uh… “drain whisperers” that can lean over a vent, listen intently, and then sigh sadly: “Much pain… much upset……
There’s a wind inside me
Blowing me all about
I could be a slip of paper or a water bottle
Bouncing down the street
Landing at your feet
Kick me to the gutter
To be lifted up and recycled into something gorgeous
Perhaps a pair of pleather shoes…
On your feet I’ll pinch and bite you
That’s what you get for kicking me in the gutter!
And I’m still full of the wind!
And I’ll make you wander and wonder:
“Whatever will I do I’m so confused!”
And tumble you over into bad decisions and unreliable lovers
Til you can’t find your spot on your mattress and your inner head bangs off the ceiling
But one night you’ll shiver with the open window cold on you
The wind will sashay in like a big-dicked king and take what has always been something that’s been borrowed
What would be very cool is if we all looked so different there was no way to compare us to each other. You couldn’t say, “His nose is big,” because no one else would know what a nose is. Fat? What’s that? Cockeyed? Bald? Black?Thin lipped? Buxom? Huh? What are you talking about?
Take every species and make it a singular thing and that’d be us: people shaped fluid like jellyfish falling down stairs.
We would have to recognize each other in deeper ways — by the colors of our minds and hearts.
At night on my street I can stand under a street light and be the only person in the spotlight. Be the only person on the planet. Be the only person in the universe. Be so huge that I can’t tell where I begin or where I end. Be all knowing, because I am everything. The total power that is me.
But it gets cold as it gets later, and I have to pee, and to do so I have to make myself small enough to fit in the bathroom of a little house in a little neighborhood.
You should go back to forest school
Find a desk near a nice bird and copy her songs and her sweet voice
Hang out with the grass
Learn how to be stepped on all day and then pop up all refreshed like you felt nothing
Run with squirrels
Back and forth, doing the same damn thing everyday, in any weather, and always surprised and delighted by the same outcome
Or live a day with a bug — do the full routine: hatch, molt, hook-up, die — and then you’ll know just how little you get done in across all of your human days
I do not know what anything is anymore
It seems melodramatic
But it is a cheap penny dreadful
With too much unneeded drama
Arguing over who should wash what
Who said what
Who thought what
With sad violas floating over the mess that it is
Everyone traumatized like it was in the Middle AgeS
By a cold shore
With blue eyes
Is now the time to give up?
It circles around in every space available
Doubt is the packing peanut
One must be cagey and merciless
To bring the king out of his castle and cut off his ears