Breathe.

The moon was never gone;

just beyond your view.

Behind clouds,

behind earth.

Making silent moves;

effecting the tides.

All the while;

cycling back to you.

Thimble

Lately I’ve been “nesting.”

Chasing serotonin and conviction- reclaiming my own curtilage.

And yet, entertaining;

Fellini-esque fantasies.

While balancing the romantic…

with the absurd.

Still, fantasies indeed are dangerous things.

Particularly;

when one feels unchallenged or complacent…

It’s easy to believe that things mean more-

Connections or kismet or fated-

too often just a novel distraction

They would soon grow bored of…

He gave her his heart,

she gave him a pen.

Is it ever real?

Too often oxytocin fueled.

And hypervigilance gives way

To resolute avoidance and/or

The altruistic conundrum-

there is no unselfish deed…

And like she said, “perhaps…”

I’ve already had my chance for that type of happiness.

Nonetheless, a growth mindset.

Endeavor to be present.

Stay the course.

Self actualize myself.

Alone is not so bad.

Lonely is much worse.

Photo from: www.shopstudiosisters.com

Bleach

My seemingly loving efforts appear to have been~
insidious;

regardless of my good intentions.

That stupid fucking realization:

“The grass only grew when we left it alone.”

And I then-

Well, I looked at my hands;         

each rubbing the other like it would somehow bring the other- comfort…

and I flashed upon a memory…

a memory of my father~

wringing his hands…

Because there’s nothing else you can do when “rainy days and Mondays always bring you down…”

I wished that it was all gaslighting-

Alas-

I cannot deny my own part in the fire-

that fire that burnt everything.

Everything we loved-

Everything we planned-

All the things we planted-

Prayed for.

Yep-

I am the common denominator who just…

Just brought it to it’s knees and then to a-

well…

To a bitter fucking end.

And everything I thought I knew

and everything I was meant to do-

Was smoldering… kindling~

Left.

Left to mildew:

Mildew like forgotten laundry in the wash~

Dirty laundry-

a chore.

You know.

The kind you forget because you think you’re happy;

and
you are busy;

and

you feel content.

Then and only then-

do you realize:

you left it;

left it TOO long~

unattended;

in the rain… and also;

On the line-

and now it’s sour;

Rotten…

That smell can not be washed out.

 

Goddamn it.

Broken mirror

All the things shed-

to make way for new beginnings:

replaced by ectothermic forces

reflection no longer representative

of the self recognized by Id-

ego

ego

ego

STOP.
Increasingly lighter,

more wrinkled;

mortal coil bound.

long life lived

experiences groomed

patterns repeated

for the chance to repair-

the choice to revisit-

the future of a soul

in need of trauma repair-

control dramas

daddy issues

abandonment

fear

and love

Shame overwhelms

influencing choices

like mercury retrograde
making all communication
futile; yet needed.

spiral spiral spiral

STOP.

who do we see when we look?
cracked and distorted

visions intuited

through a looking glass, darkly.

 

 

 

TuHaiku

How did it happen-
the only one alone here;
Me. Again. Of course.

Walking the damn line-
Praying for spiritual strength
And fast Benedryl.

Hallelujah

It’s strange:

How I find myself here

Cutting my mother’s hair.

When I swore we’d never speak

Never give myself the chance

to destroy her…

Like I know I could.

Curiously ironic…

Such a moment of grace

And a realization-

“I forgive her”

And for once,

It’s not about her.

He super loves her.

Such an aberrant sentiment-

Unflinchingly given and reluctantly- accepted.

Growth is rarely a comfortable present;

at least not in the moment.

More of a gift to be appreciated when one grows older.

Cleverly disguised truth-

A Postmodern Jukebox manifestation of arrested development,

to be waded through both side by side

and often you taking point.

A partner and a challenge-

a teacher and a blessing.

An organized wish come through,

willed by his hands~

 

Heavy in His arms

Surrounded by the ever present Spectre of death…

Mortality itself has haunted since the 11th year-

Family & friends dying like the Hemingways and Fondas having a competition…

Addictions and violence permeate a life… a society… a culture.

Supporting those you love,

Facing my own fears;

Tasked with aiding those in grief…

A lifetime of training?

They don’t tell you the right things to say…

Or even the wrong things to say.

“It will always come in waves… they just get further between…”

Weak tea for the knock kneed.

God

Life

Energy

Grief

Stages

Birth to death and all between;

Beautiful acceptance to righteous anger-

Fuck this mortal coil.

Oedipus

What a compounding thought-

Reflecting on my daddy issues;

My insane need for a father figure…

What I needed was a foundation-

“The all father”

A God:

for all intents and purposes-

An education on faith-

Grace-

Forgiveness-

Repentance AND reconciliation.

A basis for growth- a reason for service and understanding of trauma-

And finally- a present presence.

Always ok.

It’s not crazy-

To question all of your decisions-

While holding your knees and rocking…

At the bottom…

of a dark closet-

Simultaneously:

lamenting;

and experiencing déjà vu…

realizing the trauma root to your aesthetic preferences…

synthesizing information, emotions, perceptions, programming…

Understanding leads to despair and experience leads to scripted good guesses…

“Fear is the path to the dark side.”

Leaps of faith…

Crisis of confidence?

Hope being what’s left and hoping because there’s nothing left-

Love or fear, only two choices…

At the heart of it…

Still rocking…

Still rocking…

Still rocking…

Bottom of a dark closet.

Soundlessly chanting-

beneath the typhoon in my bedroom…

I’m ok.

I’m ok.

I’m ok.

I’m always ok.

it’s not crazy- it’s human, right?

JAM, not jelly.

Temporarily tattooed words,

over my heart-

across my breasts.

 

Mirror opposites for your view,

and mine…

Though the ink disappears,

all feelings remain.

Neither game, nor war.

Redundant shields failing-

and to the victor go the spoils.

Spoils of anger;

spoils of fear; and

spoils of doubt.

 

There’s no way to plan tactically-

when there is no consistency;

it is like trying to flank cats…

 

Knowing what we need

AND

also…. communicating it?

Ah…. that’s the secret.

 

Feelings can be stifled-

suppressed;

projected-

predicted.

Reactions?

No dice.

 

Purpose required.

Have you ever wanted something so bad,

you work and sacrifice….

Go a little mad…

Obtain said goal.

And then-

As though you had been…

chasing the proverbial dragon,

you are again unsatisfied?

Its easy to feel very sad and isolated-

Lonely in this big house-

Full of white noise and silences…

Inconsistently closed yet open doors.

Still trying to adjust- adapt…

Handle all the new noises

Suppress all the annoying ones,

Lament the loss of the old ones;

Not regret not covet-

Missing the tiny place somehow-

Although cramped quarters-

Happiness was found in those small spaces;

No choice but intimacy-

And shared purpose.

Oh me

I live in a huge house now…

full of closed doors;

For energy conservation,

Of course.

Fickle Mistress

How much can one heart hold:

Sadness-

Love-

Anger-

Happiness?

Swelling and contracting

Heaving like a deep breathing chest

Rising and falling;

like rapid cycling moods.

Hearts can heal

All too often it seems

Just in time to break-

again.

Love-

Love is a tricky bitch.

And hope?

Hope is a fickle mistress.