my particles are threatening to
separate
further
such that you’re all left
with nothing but
gas you cannot breathe
and a puddle
.
for just a little while
if you see me
please don’t tug
my particles are threatening to
separate
further
such that you’re all left
with nothing but
gas you cannot breathe
and a puddle
.
for just a little while
if you see me
please don’t tug
One for sorrow
Two for fear
Red for flesh
Blue for tears
White for lies
Stripes for bars
Don’t forget to count the stars
ninety nine percent
of the time
I’m fine but
every once in a while
it’s like my mind is on
fire and I need
a lifeline to guide
me, out of the sky
and back inside. But
my pride feeds me
lies about the eyes
of passersby and I
try not to sigh
as I shy from the type
of advice they’d supply.
“Don’t cry!”
“Just try!”
“Maybe next time!”
Not lies, just tired rhymes.
They beguile for a while
in line
with the design
of the wires
we all have to climb
just to get by
while others stockpile,
the same bile
and fake smiles
that will cause the dial of time to
stop.
You look.
You look like someone.
You look like someone I used.
You look like someone; I used to.
You look like someone I used to know.
You look like someone. I used to know who.
You look like someone… I used to know who cares.
You look. Like someone I used to know, who cares, anyway?
You look like someone I used to know. Who cares? Anyway, you look again.
when I was a child
I wished I was a wizard
it took a long time for me to realize
humans cannot be trusted with magic
greedy, short-sighted, violent
I became a therapist instead
(after a brief detour)
working with those same humans
vulnerable, well-meaning, overwhelmed
when they say,
“I need to process trauma”
or
“I wish someone cared about me”
my ears take in those needs
and together we get to work
but
sometimes
they say,
“I just need to pay my heat bill”
or
“There are no shelters taking anyone like me in”
my ears take in those needs, too
I want to respond helpfully
but my mouth cannot print money
for the first time
as an adult
I wish I was a wizard again
you arrive screaming
what a terrifying thing
infinite potential for harm and kindness
more screaming, more and more, at all hours
like you know about this place already
I, on behalf of the shattered
then partially and insufficiently reconstructed
planet, apologize
what suffering will
you cause, alleviate, survive
and who will you blame?
completely dependent
requiring the most meticulous
blend
love and competence
balance
nurturing and nudging
every broken person
was one of you once too
I remember that every day
I chose them
for my laboring heart
and perhaps excessively conscientious mind
(someone has to choose them and you appeal to far more)
but for you
I offer deepest hope
meager resources
a desperate longing to protect
and bandaging when needed
I know
nothing could spare you
from the machinations of this world
still we share it
awe and fear
complexity and wonder
only fools see cute simplicity
you make everyone a fool
we are court jesters
desperate for your smile
however brief
trucks trailers and campers keep right
I steer none of these
but I move anyway
the right side of the bridge to see
a brief, uninterrupted expanse
where
sea and cosmos merge
the sun cannot draw a line here
calling it the horizon
fire and earth create such anchors
water and air are for floating
at night, this bay drinks darkness
by day, reflecting light
a void; a mirror
brackish, of course
who wouldn’t be?
This morning I was driving to work at first light
Pondering art in my morning commute
Committing myself to attempting to paint some day
Considering shapes and colors
Settling on a light yellow fade to light blue, punctuated with silhouettes
I thought
because of the paleness of the sky,
perhaps I could create this drawing
with a sponge or a cloth rather than a brush
to keep the color from being too thick or intense
Later this morning
I started reviewing developmental psychology
to help a client with a concern
clicked the next suggested article on humanism
(for obvious reasons)
and read a quote from Nietzche
“God is Dead”
apparently credited towards the initiation of agnosticism and atheism in society
humanism arising from a unique intersection
of the faithful and the secular
During lunch
I decided to read this famous parable in full,
having somehow missed it in school,
(I wonder)
and I was struck dumb
with the line
in the midst of a spiritual man’s crisis about God’s departure
“Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon?”
What an interesting contrast to my morning;
I wonder what the rest of the day will draw.
What to make of this series?
Clouds, stars, disappearing, wish fulfillment, storms, dancing.
It’s all just phantasmagoria.
but sometimes I wonder
if my mind is
constantly trying
to remind me in my sleep
not to care too much
not to be too much
not to say too much
when I
awaken
Tornadoes.
I dreamed about tornadoes
at least once a week
for years.
I haven’t in a while, though.
The vast majority were grim, panic-imbued, and notably in greyscale.
In one, towards the end of the series, I realized I dreamt and willed my mind to turn the vortex into something else. It became a great, colorful, flowering tree. This remains my only so-called “lucid dream”.
In the last of the dreams to-date, I felt certain my wife and I would survive the storm.
I don’t miss those dreams.
They did not allow for rest.
I was dancing
I love dancing
and my dance partner
was my romance partner
at the time
I said,
“I love you”
but the response was,
“Oh, I’m not in love with you.
You’re just the best person I’ve ever met
and I don’t want to hurt you.”
–
When I told my partner about that dream, I received reassurances, and, a month later, an axe to the chest accompanied by the words, “It’s exhausting to be around such a good person all the time.”
I was laying
down
in my bed
in the morning
in half-woke torpor
my mother walked in
and gave me
a perfume
a tiny vial
a gift
when I sprayed it
it granted my wishes
I flew
made people happy
experienced joy
–
This is the third dream I remember.
When I woke up from this dream, I was laying down in half-woke torpor, in the morning, in my bed. My mother walked in and gave me a gift, a tiny vial, a perfume.
–
The corporeal bottle’s label says,
“Simple Pleasures”.
I am
selectively superstitious
and whimsical,
just like everyone else.
So when I make important wishes
I still spritz it on my heart
and keep it
simple.
–
I was almost an adult. My first wish was the most frivolous. I wished for a good prom. It worked out, though the girl I went with didn’t.
–
I typically forget
it exists.
It is
a very tiny bottle
and I hide
it from myself. Somehow
I, who could
easily misplace
the Earth itself,
have yet
to lose it.
I was standing in the doorway that
led to the kitchens
at my high school
on a good day,
when teachers sent us to lunch on-time,
that’s where we may get in line
on bad days,
they let us out too late and we
wound up in
(and down and around)
the adjoining halls
I stood in the doorway
between
two lines of hungry kids shuffling in
as they passed
they did not look at me
but they grabbed a piece of me
and left
she plucked a finger
he swiped an ear
all of them were people I thought
I knew
they didn’t seem to notice
I was disappearing
maybe it was the lack of blood
I wasn’t upset
I didn’t feel a thing
–
This is the second dream I remember.
I was standing outside
on a hill
surrounded by people
who were staring
at the sky
pointing up
shouting
“there’s mine!”
and
“there’s yours!”
enthusiastically
I looked up
everywhere, picturesque white clouds
the kind that look like luxury and comfort
but
I learned later in life
would actually only feel cold and slightly wet against skin
the beautiful clouds were speckled
with tiny black stars
like polka dots or ornaments
you knew which star belonged to whom
just by looking
I couldn’t find my star at first
then I saw it
it was set against a monstrous dark cloud in the distance
glowing
and there weren’t any others
with it
I ran away
afraid people would see the cloud
and
who I was
–
This is the earliest dream I remember.
it’s pouring this year
I mean today
I mean this year
as it goes sometimes
last year everything dried up
everyone everywhere was parched
this year, it all flooded back in
and then some
we may grumble
have to change our clothes
and our lives
but I don’t mind
all this weathering
with you
let’s circle the sun again
my love
I never learn.
People say
“you’ve got a piece of my heart”
to each other,
but I can’t love like that.
My love is blazing, not warm, not tepid.
It’s like I grow an entire organ
full of sunshine
every time
and when the possessor goes,
that piece of me
will be raining
forever.
I can’t do it any other way.
“You care more about everything
than most people care
about anything anymore.”
Truthfully, I don’t even want to change this weather.
Sometimes, I just have to carry an umbrella to manage the day.
I don’t believe in sun sign significance, mostly.
But Aquarius?
I’m going to give so much light
and bear so much water
by the time I die
I will be an ocean.
Pessimism is one of the hardest forms of suffering.
Pessimism is unassuaged by goodness.
Pessimism looks a gift horse in the mouth
and then punches it.
–
Pessimism insists on calling badness inevitable and constant
and then making it such to perpetuate itself.
Pessimism does not allow space for the possibility of improvement.
Pessimism rebuffs all comfort, refuses any opportunity, and distrusts every joy.
–
They say they want life to get better.
I want the same for them.
Perhaps life will spontaneously untangle itself for them.
But probably not.
–
They say they want their feelings to get better.
Pessimism is a simpler creature than that.
Pessimism gets attached to misery
because it thinks predicting unrelenting catastrophe will prevent or ease future distress.
–
Pessimism believes if we do not hope, we will not be disappointed.
Disappointment comes from a perceived drop in goodness;
pessimism is total blindness to goodness.
Thus a pessimist is, in fact, perpetually disappointed.
–
They say they want the world to get better.
The world seldom gets better when positive outcomes are preemptively dismissed.
Change is fueled by hope – we must start with hope.
But it’s so hard for them to say they want to try to be better, let alone believe they can.
–
Be kindest to pessimists.
Even in the face of goodness, they experience no joy, internalize no relief.
After they maximize their fill of negativity, they harden themselves to prevent pain,
sealing within all former pain instead, suffocating themselves in it.
–
We can only try to poke small holes for air to get in.
you have
167 hours
every week
to build yourself up
or tear yourself down
(or be torn down by others)
to work
and rest
and play
and socialize
and isolate
and change
to despair
and rejoice
and remember
.
we get
1 hour
most weeks
to process everything
you are
and were
and want
and have
and lost
as well as to plan
how to get
from here
to somewhere else
or
to stay here
and heal
.
I do apologize
for my damnably small hands
the sky shattered
and tiny pixels rained down
blinking and hissing
nearby another burst
sent waves of gems across
thickening layers of smoke
evening reports
creatures of the locale
tuned in, keyed up, screeched back
we did know
light could deafen
having seen and heard storms
but who knew black sand
from the earth
could cast stars across space
we sent up
chemical blemishes
to streak our dome
feeble and fleeting
fierce and fiery
the spectacle ebbed and flowed
until a visual crescendo,
accompanied by rapid-fire percussion
and a few whistles, on and off the ground
we see
just how
fire works
the first
(and only)
green bean
we grew
is misshapen
an “L”
for love
at least
we’ve got
that down
even if
we are
not gardeners
but maybe
one more
will grow
I’ll split
this one
with you