It wasn’t supposed to end like this

poetry

It wasn’t supposed to end like this—
It was supposed to be a civil nod of the head
A conciliatory, halfhearted hug
And promises that we won’t forget—
because we won’t—
and that, in the end, it would all be OK.

Well-wishes for the next leg of the journey
with wistful smiles
and mutual respect—
Acting like the good people we both are.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this,
what sorrow.

Stories of Stability

poetry, life

When you woke up fifteen minutes early and sat down to a bowl of oatmeal and the morning paper,
noticed a chip in your favorite mug, and realized you liked it better that way
When traffic was slightly less horrible yesterday afternoon
and you saw a robin perched on the power line
When you got into bed with freshly-washed sheets,
and slept noiselessly, never getting too hot or too cold.When you laughed at the increasingly ridiculous tactics of telemarketers, and you told them how broke you were:

“Hello, is Robert there?”
“No, I think you have the wrong number”
“Oh, well maybe you can help me out; I’m calling from the fill-in-the-blank research foundation and we’re starting our annual drive…”
“I have zero monies”
End call.



When you finished all your reports and left work ten minutes early
When you listened to the silence of your still, unoccupied living room
and you found a popcorn kernel between the cushions.
When you decided that matching socks might be a good idea, and you matched them all.
When you smelled the potent, artificial meadow breeze of the fabric softener before you started that load.
When you sang along to classic disco hits on the way to your doctor’s appointment.
When you met your friend for coffee and struggled to find anything to talk about, so you both analyzed the complex body of your respective lattes.
When you took a walk around the block and waved hello to exactly three strangers.
When you watched a forty-minute eighth inning, accompanied by an cold coke.
When the ice on your windshield glinted in the morning light, and you remembered your gloves to scrape it all off.

When you finally called your sister and you took out the trash

When your parrot asked you earnestly, “Where Bu?”

And you watched her take a nap, before snoozing yourself.

Relentless Lent

commentary

I ended up in the desert for more than forty days
and I did face Satan and his servants–
My own inner-demons
who spin sad fantasies
Satan tempts me with guilt
and fear.
I was to be the bride of Satan,
I was going to commit my life to the worship of my neuroses and insecurities:
“I must be miserable as pennance for my sins”
“I have sinned”
“I don’t deserve to be totally happy”
“I’m getting older”
“I’m not attractive”
“I must be made ‘right’ by someone”
“I am deficient and lacking”
“I must be schooled in order to feel challenged. To feel alive. And I need someone who can teach me every single day.”
“To be schooled, I must be overcome, and be dominated”
“Suffering is the greatest teacher”
Leciferic inversions and almost-truths
I was seduced by the illusion that all suffering is virtuous,
That I would fulfill my existence by sacrificing joy—
Satan disguised my misery as joyous things,
attractive, desirable things—
and nothing was what it seemed to be.
Satan offered me all of these things if I got married to my misery
He impregnated me with these fundamental doubts and delusions I have about myself,
that I am deficient,
When in Truth, I am always whole

that I owe my progress to misery,
When in Truth, I make progress by the miraculous

These ideas began to grow inside me,
I felt my light dwindle.
I saw my life shutting.
My energy draining.

I gave it all up—
I gave it all away—
Everything I had
Everything I had clung onto
And depended on

To realize that I must refuse the temptation of misery
I must turn my sights upward
And resist the temptation of fantasies that require my misery,
That these wild fantasies must not overwrite my Self-narrative.

I am refusing.

My Easter has come.

Too much (saved)

poetry

One hour is too much–

any silver distraction–

any liquor–

emergency succor

Half an hour is too long–

every dusty go-to fixation–

every threadbare coping skill–

the vertigo of imagined crisis

Fifteen minutes is insufferable–

All of the gravelly compulsions–

All of the scraped-up scraps of reason–

Inevitable surrender

Five minutes is an eternity–

Some brief reprieve–

Some taste of stasis–

Something better than this
Come to me now, distant savior

I need 

Anything

Everything

All of it

Something.

Written for a Friend on the Eve of his Birthday

life

The body.

It decays, yet:

These houses of meat are but temporary things for our soul to reside in while we experience this world.

This version of reality and consciousness.

All of our souls chose this plane of existence for some reason.

It’s a class we’ve all enrolled in.

To learn things.

Soul things.

Like how to Love and have Compassion and to learn Acceptance—

this reality is an ultimate test in Acceptance.

This world has infinite ways to humble us again.

And again.

Whenever we think we know.

To show us what we must accept about others and ourselves.

We learn to yield our great capacity for knowledge and noise to our destiny of peace.

Of sweetest silence

and quietude.

The state from which we arise and to which we return.

And every moment our bodies persist is another moment to learn.

And wonder.

Every moment

is another opportunity for awe

And gratitude.

Dearest Friend,

you’ve persisted

and continue to persist—

these moments

this life

is a chance to find

new horizons of possibility for our souls

knowing that whatever we find

is what we’ve always been meant to see.

The weight of conclusions

and decisions

dissipates once we realize that the only way to live

is to live.

So,

as long as you’re alive

—knowing every moment is a reward that we’ve somehow earned—

—that has been mysteriously given—

please feel

blessed.

Please feel amazed

and unafraid.

There is nothing to fear,

these things,

they happen.

The body, it decays.

That is the world.

But you are a soul,

Dearest friend.

To Live Like This

life

If you’re going to live like this, there are some things you should know:

You are going to fuck up. Often. People are going to question you. Often.
You are going to take their advice with a grain of salt.
You are going to prove them right. Often.
And then
You are going to prove them wrong.
And all you need to do is prove them wrong once
to emerge a hero, with a tale, a lesson, an experience that they will covet.
That they will exalt. They will tell the tale far and wide,
even though they were on the sidelines, giving their warnings  and crying foul,
because you fuckin’ did it.
You will be remembered.

You will have to fight against instinct.
You will refuse to acknowledge fear.
There will be fear.
And it means nothing.

You will not live to be scared.
You will not live to be proper.
You will not live to be OK.
You will live for the journey.
You will live for the tragedy and the suspense and the miraculous and the uncomfortable and the astounding and the unanticipated and the glorious.
You will live for the best.
And you won’t be left wondering.

You might not live without regrets,
but you won’t regret regretting
because, damn,
it will be amazing.

Predator (Siren Series)

poetry

I breathe you in like water
You rush through me and out of me:
a tickle at my ear.

I hum a tune that is faint and purple
wandering.
You barely notice that you notice me.

You will try to ignore it,
fight to push it out of your mind,
but you won’t stop listening.

I sing honey liquid notes
so soft
you’ll hear whatever you want to hear

You will find yourself
ever closer to me.
Returning to
the perfumed air around me:
Sweet lotus blossom
salty ocean breeze
paranormal pheromone.
Intoxication inevitable.

You will find bliss,
you will lose yourself,
and I will take you there.

If you come closer,
I will breathe you in like water and
We will rush through me,
together,
no more pain.

Fire Garden

poetry

Bud of light,
grow me calm

Wrap yourself,
in your evening gown
of licking flame.

Delicate blaze,
burn me awake

Swell yourself by
sipping on fragrant waxes
lavender
coconut
vanilla

Flickering fire,
warm me OK

Dance yourself
torch yourself
in a fit of passion

Blossom yourself
and melt yourself away.

Linger glowing orange on your stem
when you disappear in a string of smoke.

Garden of fire,
pin-prick nebulae burning bright:
Leave me immolated and purged.
warm me alright.