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

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

the latest illusion

the day dream must have misspoken 
about where to place the trapdoor moon

I followed the yellow brick road
but when I got to the end of the rainbow
I was lost in the clouds

an airplane with no landing gear
an artist with a blank canvas and no brush

someone wants me to be it
but they are afraid to tag me
I’m hiding but no one is seeking

so let the rain drop down from my third eye to my soul
and form an absolute puddle
and in a mad stroke of evaporation
form the next illusion

The Point

Slogging across dewy fields of tall grass she faltered 
searching through mossy swamps
she got lost in the depths
of her own thoughts

She pierced herself on her own pointed arrow
that she spent a good amount of her life staring at and sharpening
with her mind

And she perished this way

And the world kept turning
and the grass continued to grow high
and confuse those who wandered through it

This angered her
how could she not be the key to the grass and the swamp and the arrow
how could she spend her life dedicated to slogging through these fields
and sharpening this arrow
when its point only directed her own path in the end

She was not the solution, she was only her solution
and this sorrowed her

She was missing something big
she had searched for that something big
until she perished and never found it
all the while not seeing that
all she had to do was……

look up.

The grass isn’t meant to be sorted through…its meant to grow
There is no secret in the swamp
The arrow is not the way.

You are part of the path only if you look up
and see that you are not the only one walking it

look to the stars to see this
look to link souls with other beings to learn this
until you learn this
stop sharpening your arrow
and look up.

echo 1

Thin sticks walk through moonlight
a leaf rolls forward and backwards
trying to sooth the wind
but the breeze is not yet ready for calm slumber

A motor rumbles into earshot in the distance
it resonates and hums against the canyon walls

The girl hidden in the den
punctuates this with her stammered silent echoes
her hollow sobs ask a question that nothing can answer

not the sticks or leaf
not the breeze
not the moon

Hallelujah

spit-song slit-sided journal entries
the word freedom but
half past the bravery it takes to spell it
and no where near the bravery it takes
to say it

courage is a mad man’s practice
he drives right off the cliff
because he isn’t afraid to fly

hallelujah is for the spiritually privileged
if you can spell it you are spirit rich
if you can’t your evolved

if you can’t even see the word
you have achieved enlightenment

a full stop breath with no words or writing

no sound
a breath with no sound…..

now that’s courage
and that’s freedom

hallelujah.

the goal is not to have one

dreaming without sleeping 
faltering she fell
and yet she flew
and landed on a single petal

wind through her hair found
blinders for her eyes
and still she saw waves of madness
through the moonlight

the silence wasn’t really there
but she heard it
with words on the tip of her tongue
never spoken

breeze high
crouch low
see far
and hear nothing