to write the song.....

I sense it,

   treading lightly,

      poised on toes of dust.

Shadowed fingers

      reaching for my shoulder.

A charcoal sketch,

Sentient.

It is memory.

A squeeze, a pinch, a caress.

There to remind me, that all life

                                       is a ticking clock.

And each tick

A still life,

A memory.

societal ambiguity

my deep down heart is confused and bruised. the tenuous veil of civility that evidently hid a grinding, mean spirited cancer that weaves its tentacles throughout american society has fallen and we discover the real alien, the one who lives next door, or down the street, or across town, and whose goal has always been the de-struction of the illusive american dream. brotherhood, open, accepting arms, a place where anyone has the opportunity to succeed. illusion. delusion. illusory invention. designed to keep the natives appeased. the veil has fallen. it is exposed, and we of kind heart are gut punched.

Response to Amy Ferris re: suicide

 I feel the pressure of your shoulder, leaning into mine. The gentle heat, the perceived light. The true vibrations. The truth. I sit with eyes closed, limbs tightly wound, head down, mind roiling; and your words, your presence, bring me back to my own truth. My circle reconnects and suddenly I remember sunshine. 

Spirals

Spirals

We are spirals
floating freely
like dust motes
in sunbeams.We are spirals

Breezes flow
surround
the spirals
spinning
some fast,
some slow.

Some sparkle
some drift
out of view.
We are at once
new
and old.

remade
remade

We are all spirals
some drift
some spin

together
yet apart.
some drift,
some spin.