stillness

stillness halts and lingers
ignoring the fantasy of truth
ignoring the framework of deception
and puts me on my guard

I cancel the stillness with an obscene amount of mental motion
my stillness feels like boredom
so I break its bonds
and think I’ve found freedom

but until stillness can be still
fleeing it only leads to an illusion of freedom
a sticky web of the subconscious
that knows what it wants but keeps forgetting
simple steps

be still everywhere
except your breath
be still-breath-be free

Be free of ugliness
of never ending cyclical motion

let stillness linger
find freedom

Wink

I stood in the dark and winked at myself
twice
I called to you from beyond a brick wall
whispering
Laughing underwater, smelling plastic flowers, and chewing on paper tasteless meat are all common things

Sometimes the truth is there
but we hide from it
and instead
we stand
winking in the dark

Shrapnel 2

On paper and in person she was as small as a mouse
and still she tried to make herself smaller

She wished to shrink to a speck of stardust
infinitely small
but also imbued with powers contained
in the nascent universe inside her

One day she went into her mind
and did not come back out again

Instead she became stardust.
Her dream of becoming a speck came true

But that was not the end of her story…..

She became a seed planted in a new place
and all that there was left to do
was to expand.

She sang the body electric
She became the stars
and her own new multiverse under her own terms

Like shrapnel exploding
she exploded into the biggest planet
anyone had ever seen

Her power was compassion
and no one could ever make her feel small again

We are all made of stars.

shrapnel number 1

The strength of weighted words
measured for resonance
and chosen for impact
hit their mark

the armor did not hold
and the sting became a wound
where these words pierced her

It wasn’t so much that she was called a name
it was whose voice was used as the weapon
to deliver this name that became the bullet

now she spends the wee hours
picking out shrapnel
which she is forming into bullets of her own

the map

my heavy heart
is swift of foot
but somehow lies dormant

under red sands
and marbled skies
for many many sunsets

fried over
it’s hard to recognize
the scars
after they bake
in the sun
for years and years

one scar bleeds
into the next
until they form
a picture

if you examine
the picture
at different angles
it’s both a secret symbol


and
a
map

a map
back down
to where
the sources
of scars
lie buried
in the sand

Skylark

the skylark sings of safety 
where did it wander
how can it find this lost feeling

the armadillo sings of joy
how can it feel this thing
it cannot uncurl its heart to see

the starfish sings of sadness
a foreign place it’s never known
a frown it can’t physically achieve

the bee sings of laziness
because it cannot fathom
having the time to stop and think

shattered owl

shattered owl why do you weep so sweetly
attend to your broken feathers
that stick out like shards
waiting to cut
the next one to come near you

let your sorrow seep out slowly
not in a gust of words without mindfulness or compassion
or without kind attention to the strength of their candor

concatenated tears can be beautiful prisms in the moonlight
once you see the beauty in them
use their strength to heal your mournful yowl

there is strength in tears
but
pain does not need to be our proverb