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“the fool”

open your bag, you beautiful fool
the world is at your fingertips
but your fingers are soft flesh
the mountain draws you in
but will quarter you all the same
an empty cape, tied to hope
it is filled with dirt
and in that dirt you must dig
you carry your life now
the stars are far away
and the black net of night
comes closer every day
each step
you will meet your desire
as it meets you
shaking off imposter dreams
shedding its teeth, closing each door along the way
until there is no option
there is only what happened
and what happens next


As usual, I have too much to catch you up on, have taken my fare share of time, been selfish with my own. I hope all is well. You know I care, I hope. I’m writing from, as you may have guessed, somewhere other than where the photo on this postcard would indicate. And will probably send it from somewhere other than where I wrote it. Never in one place, never in one time. That’s just the way it goes, or I go.

Hell is pretty nice. It’s better than you’d expect, at least. Not nearly as creative as they make it out to be. Granted, it’s of one’s own making, and I never really thought I’d end up here so it kind of resembles my college dorm room. Gray floors, one window looking out onto other windows. Nothing’s unpacked. Sometimes I feel bad, not for myself, that I’m here, but that I deserve to be here. Then I see a ladder, way in the distance, beyond the wall of my room, it is white and water or blood drips down from it. It’s hard to tell. The lighting isn’t great. I should change that. Anyway, the ladder usually disappears as I never hold the thought too long, you know, long enough to seek repentence. I will, one day. For now, I may as well enjoy myself. I’m assuming this is a one time offer, the solitude, the black out curtains that not even God can penetrate.

plush smurf, clean and crackling to the touch
size of you, now not
smell of a dream that was not, now is
unsmoked cigar
statue of a fisherman you cannot place
he cannot remember, does not exist
beach town wooden steps, porch
strawberry bush on the terrace, size of a fingernail
to grow and be cut
were they as sweet as they are now, as gentle as i remember her then?
as you are now
wrapped in the whisps of a memory
the soil wetted,
the leaves warmed
the strawberry blooms anew

“it isn’t about you”

whatever you do, it’s not about you
remember that
you are going to die one day
and one day is tomorrow
it’s always tomorrow
the oven is always on
the girl never likes you
everyone else is to blame
but remember
it’s not about you
are you feeling relieved yet?
it’s not about you
being amazing
having a superpower
you can’t fly
you won’t cure cancer
pigs won’t fly and their piss won’t cure cancer
and even if it does and they do
it won’t involve you
all the shit you’ll be a part of
or avoid
the mistakes and regrets
won’t be about you
you can let them go
they leave when you leave
all the raw moments of embarrasment
of inadequacy
of being stuck in a body of just so proportions
good things come in small packages
sounding like a joke
a koan you don’t want to lick
your body is your mind and your mind is an icecube
melt it
freeze it
it will always do what it always does

you are trapped
it’s true
in a world so swift
so heavy
so resolved in its ways
you are part of this world
watching life come and go
you see yourself come and go
come and go
rise from yourself
and realize
you are falling
you are flying
you die
eyes opened or closed

the wind rolls over hills of green sand
once mountains
glinting under a full moon
full of sun
it cannot have
longing to be
light falling
silent on an ocean
it cannot have
black licks of tide smoothing the edge
taking it back

none of this is yours, it thinks
the moon perhaps
to no one

and you
being there
framed for a moment in the long now
otherwise a blur in the unblinking eye of god

you will say
in a conversation belonging to no one
i know
but it’s not about you

“an absence of stars”

an absence of stars

without you
i am

an absence of stars

a block of light
where truth should be
a glowing orb

an absence of stars

the sunrise races across the earth
life huddles beneath the skin of an apple
lest the heath of space raze across us

in absence of stars

time is not a day
it is the presence or absence
of you

but you are light
and light is a constant
it cannot end
as time cannot begin

you are always there

the absence of stars


where is my mind
my mind
the dome of thought
i swim inside
could i be someone else
trade umvelts
race the noosphere
away from all the
grammar traps
the syntax of synaps
the freedom to change chip
the freeing of the tip
begins with the iceberg underneath
the inveitabilities
are frozen
life is going to take you
where it wants to
the best you can do
is love the deep, unchanging
ride it with your eyes
the horizon

i’ve seen life without you
but never you without life

i never will, thank god and my mother
who couldn’t bear the thought, but bore the thought
your last hurrah on the gurney
a day deceased, the neighbor said they heard you hit the wall
didn’t say which, so we get to replay this event
over and over or

time’s past and you are in the spaces
just like they said
replaced the you that was me
or jesus as whoever he was trying to be

one part reverie, one part soliliquoy
conjuring my body’s response to your reality
the ripple i wish i’d shared more frequently

your laughter and your qualities
the hidden things
the extension of idosyncracies

i’ve seen the world left behind
to be with us
the vault, the locks, all broken off
strewn across the mired muck
we all come from to rise above
you rose for us
you bloomed for us
to prove the light
to save the warmth
escaping through the dark days
between the smiles

i’ve seen the universe extend to embers, echoes of whispers, whisps of atoms, the end of dreams

i’ve seen nothing
in the spaces

i’ve seen you
i’ll you again

it’s like the difference between beer and liquor
or how about between whiskey and vodka
there’s a purity factor
an intention setting
the easing in and how steep a slope to roll
into the seed
spring up darkling
your own personal creature of the night
grime of day
let’s not digress
spiritualize or demonize
the gifts god left us
extrapolations and peace enough for generations
to generate new tastes
to involve ourselves in our own fates
the degree to which we drink our lives
ourselves a distilling
is the difference between
what we are and being

looking for orion’s belt
you might want to buy him a drink first
someone may have said
that night
we laughed
our genes sparkling
the sky doming, constellations awakening for us
a green wink we all saw
for the first time

the way time works
and firsts
is such that three small dots
are just that

tunnels of light, really
separate heavens, actually
unreachable, precisely
all the same

orion’s dropped his belt
wears a kimono now for all we know
trades stocks
watches the history channel
to catch up on the future
presented as the past
before it changes too

i guess now is as good a time as any to talk about the apparitions
the ghost of the world
the world sliding just slightly to the right
and up
the path untaken
the indecision trailing off
the things i didn’t say, saying
the mind attributing meaning to faulty wiring
the fault of why-are-we-ing
why me
lining up side by side
feet touching ground
but not all the way
not both grounds
always something out of reach
dancing in place
the nature of reality
the sinking into what i see
to hesitation
slipping boundaries

wondering what’s on the other side
of these eyes