Journey to Your Deepest Self

Liquid Animal Ocean

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Despair

She trembles with fear Her hand shakes As the wine glass is raised to lips Ever thirsty Ever quenched Ever dry Ever hungry Ever spitting Foulness and stench All the children have been killed The mothers too She is the last one Some were killed with hatred and violence But most were simply neglected Until they ceased to exist She is the last one and She fears for her life And yet, For her death Sometimes she wonders at life’s tenacity At how hard it is to die Given how hard it is to live But mostly she just trembles and Holds on Waiting She forgets to want anything It was the children who wanted And they are gone Every moment is only Watching and waiting And without the children She is like wallpaper Like wood Like dirt Everything she is Depends on what’s next And since what’s next is never grasped Never quite gotten to Always beyond She is nothing And the longer she is nothing The bigger she grows And the more...

Approaching

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What There Isn’t and What There Is

There is no deep forest to explore No high desert chalky sunset colors purple and peach No great expanse of lawn dotted with morning deer grazing No gardener’s palette and beyond a creek or the staying summer sea There is only a yard surrounded by a decrepit fence creaking in the night breeze a hole dug for a pond full of weeds a few tomatoes But the winter compost is rich, black and hot and steams through the frosty day And the children still come here to...

Just For A Moment

Just for a moment Or an afternoon I’d like to be ten again To be sitting in My grandmother’s kitchen Feeling uneasy With the immense serenity Of her place Hearing her tell me I’m a good girl I’m good I’m beautiful I’d believe her If I could I wouldn’t think She’s just saying that Because she’s my grandmother And she’s afraid for me I’d let it come in All the way to my bones Like the rich smells Of espresso and biscotti Like the comforting weight of...

I Don’t Know What To Call You

I am the shadowy figure in dreams of people who have seen me drive by or spoken to me in the grocery store and I seem to say something quite directly to someone and it just slips right past their awake mind and into their dreaming mind unnoticed, undetected or ignored, maybe unwanted. And I wonder if I’m alive and I can almost feel a hint of fear and sadness that I am not more fully here but it seems as though Life is guiding me to know myself and to reach toward the one who is Dreamer and the Dreamer is dreamed. It’s nearly unbearable this ghostly existence. This un-moored drifting from storm to calm to storm. Nothing makes a difference anymore but I long for things to matter. I long to feel their weight. And because I feel so achingly light I am shocked when I glimpse my body in the mirror and see weight. So much flesh containing such vast emptiness. The part of me that wants to be caught up in the fisherman’s net and singled out and weighed and sold and bought and set free and swimming and killed. To matter. To get caught up.There’s very little I want to do anymore. It’s a...
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