Jalopy

When learning how to meditate it is a common tool
to imagine
yourself
being on the side of a busy road, a freeway say,
watching the cars zoom by,
noticing the varying speeds
and taking in
the flow.

The automobiles are commuting thoughts
in this scenario,
unremembered by make, model and color
unless focused upon
in passing.

Being stuck on the shoulder
more than once myself,
some savior often pulls over
to offer help

it is fair to assume I simply ran out of gas,
it seems reasonable to conclude
I do not have reliable transportation,
and it is purely logical to reason
I have somewhere
to Be-

as if I could use a lift.

I try not to use the hazard lights.





Photograph by Alan Levine, 'Roadside Susans' taken 7/17 in Public Domain. 

Lines & Linens

In dark times
our own mortality,
thin as muslin,
brushes an earlobe,
unlike a lover, yet
lightly as a whisper

as this seductress touches
the soft spots,
a veil of adverbs
fall at our feet, deflated
as exhaled balloons,
Thule tends to hold nothing back.

In a single explosive moment
at the end of a whip,
we can only become
deafened and blinded on impact,
and it is inherently
common to cower
and not move
for fear-
For fear opposes bravery
and bravery takes nerve,
and nerves become raw
and thin
as muslin
rubbed back into cotton bolls.

Under this gossamer appearance,
what is soft
has been made to be
rid of
swords and armor
such as grown wild
or naturally part of We.


Painting by Henry Robert Morland (1716-1797), 'Woman doing laundry' in Public domain.

Out of darkness grows

It feels like rain
in the bones.
It is as though
I have known
the subtle differences
of hours
from reading water lines
and by translating the stain
visibly left behind
similar to thunderheads.

Another dawn lightens over me
and after so many
thin and pointed
Winter moons have waned,
it becomes easier to reminisce
in this Time
alone and perishable.

Soon enough,
daybreaks the serene brow
into blended spectrums
dampened down seeds are sown
deeply enfolded into the crust
and the anticipation of flowers
made nothing but sense
of Beauty.



Painting by Jean-Francois Portaels(1818-1895), 'Spring' c. 1879 in Public Domain. 

Artist leaving residence

The artist leaves the building.
This time he is
wrapping up
his canvases, colors, and
hairy implements.

He loads and stacks,
lines and lays his tiles, some gently
until tightly packed
for transport.

Some of them,
he jams in just seeming
to fill in
any open spaces he sees.

His neighbor, the lady
living below him,
paints furiously-impressionism,
she is no artist.

She tries to finish
her own piece
before he is gone-
before all falls muted,

from above.
Heaven forbid,
the muse is moving on
to another scene, landscape

perch, set of white walls,
half empty canvases,
or another artistic
aesthetic altogether.

Painting by Thomas Prichard Rossiter, 'A Studio Reception, Paris' c. 1841,[CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Warning signs

Red dawn
sits quietly
behind Eastern hills.
Space
is blue and cold
in moonglow flood-
light.

A candle flickers
inside
the window.
The birds stir
leaves,
while wind
picks up any loose
thoughts.

...the purpose of a flower,
color can make us
feel.
Beauty is perishable,
like the light
of this day.

A reflection glows
warmer,
warnings signs were every-
where
day breaks
hearts as light as air.




Painting by Herbert James Draper (1863-190), 'The Gates of Dawn', in Public Domain. 

Continuities

Please consider this
an invitation for you
to take a small step
with me
here

into a warm pool
of self-reflection
with its coincidences
and resemblances
to the things we
can touch
that may also touch us back

for the same reason
or terrify
by
sheer proximity of skin.

It feels blurry when fully
immersed
here
because this liquid is so much
thicker than blood,

immortal and color-less
in order
to not conceal its particulates
as deposited into your banks
of experience.

It all comes together
like light,
gravity, family and an image,
for a moment.

This shape
water takes
the pathways
as they mimic the way of wind
taking the open path
along, long, way around
an obstacle that doubled
itself as a ladder.

Without braces and right angles,
there are no straight lines or perfect circles
to be found or measured
here.

We may picture
perfection but cannot describe
or swallow it without losing
our senses
of things.

In between
breaks of concentration
the glass spiders
but it is held together
in its frame

since there was no place
to remain
the same
as the way we found.

Let us both observe
how much further,
the way you have held yourself back,
the way you left yourself
so easily open to suggestions
such as novelties as in
the word and first-mover
who made us-

stand up
while the mirror-image stayed
observant and seated
in place.

See,
that was not you
there
sinking in,
drinking in, thinking in
collected bodies capable
of lucid dreaming
without ever remembering
if we should have
broken the surface.




Photo credited by Jon Sullivan, 'Ashes on the Reflecting Pool' dated February 2013. 

Should've asked first...

We were connected
to each others gaze
and more
deeply, once
we wished would last for-
ever.

Remember
with me
conversations, deeply
endless opportunity
being
together only-
beginnings.

I know
that was then,
but I do not know
when this
is-
more endings.

True, I only speak
most
honestly in poetry.
Saying more
than I could other-
wise.

I only ask
now, how we changed
focus-frequently
away...

Don't answer,
I won't repeat.

The blue-lit face,
red cheeks, empty windows
and presence-
elsewhere, I try to focus
on something
as intangible and
deeply infinite,
as sky only to resist
the falling atmosphere.

It is my fault.
I should've asked
you if you think
we get what we deserve
always?



Painting by Philip Hermogenes Calderon (1833-1898), 'Her eyes are with her heart' c. 1881, in Pubic Domain. 

drawing with charcoal

Seething and sizzles
with intermittent sparks,

This dawn cracks
its sharp end

Making wake
a current state of fray

Today
may bring light

By ignition
cauterized by the heart.



Painting by Alphonse Asselbergs (1839-1916), 'Around a Fire in the Forest', in Public Domain. 

Heft

Balance may never be explained
in a constant way.
Sentences have periods,
stories are many series of scenes
that never end.

When we insist on showing someone else,
the way it is, the way we see it
changes inevitably
somewhere between pointing and looking.

There is always more to see.
Obviously,
there is no way to stay
in equilibrium for an eternity.

At least we both must hold on
to something
that seems worth
mentioning.


Artwork by Édouard Vuillard (1868-1940) in the [Public domain].

Weather Fact or Friction

Thunderstorms can generate wind that is capable of developing additional thunderstorms up to 100 miles away.
Ants carry greater weight upon the fate of the planet than all of the elephants.
There is only one cheetah, genetically. They are all copycats.
All tortoiseshell cats are female.
A tortoise is a turtle, but a turtle is not a tortoise.
All mammals have hair, including marine mammals.
If a butterfly lands on you, like a kiss it has a lingering effect.
Kissing is a form of devouring one another.
Eating your words causes indigestion.
Our narrow color spectrum is a coded labeling system,
nevermind the claims of reds or whites or
fermentation of green and browns,
we eagerly ingest our poisons like medicines. Only death is harmless.
So many are starving but none are taking a place at the table or saying
a word of Grace.
Anyway,
Escape and Utopia are not the equivalents of Apathy and Atlantis.
Artificial Intelligence demonstrates that competence can be performed without comprehension.
When we tried playing God, saving the Earth, selling one-way tickets to Heaven and the Moon,
Time traveling, age rewinding, and portraying ourselves to be all-powerful we found ourselves-weak to resist, irresistible, gullible, and addicted to more than just the levers and
Controls.
Not knowing Best, but collecting alternate facts and delegating the feelings
of incompetence to all Others, we have been told two Truths and a Lie.
Fires spread in the mess-hall, millions of cooks vacated the kitchen, all of their pants aflame,
an acrid vapor left in the wake of Epochs echoing on wax-filled ears.
From the top-down, the ice spreads, plates are stacked and we are still spinning.
The soul never stays in one spot. Heat, like religion, is always seeking converts.
We are all preoccupied, we were born busy and off-balance, running to stay up-
Right.
Our big three-pound brains burn 33o calories per day.
The brain does not recover the same way other muscles do.
Magic is the ten days it takes for a flesh wound to heal. The Big Bang is still happening.
Hindsight is too far behind current, foresight is double vision doubled, the current is always moving, perspective is in every angle, adjective.
It was short and sweet.



Artwork by Edward Penfield (1866-1925), Calendar cover c. 1896 in Public Domain. 

316 million tons: Our weight on the world

Deadweight
Feels heavier
Without a light source

Emitting and casting off more than
Darkness which regenerates
On itself
Like a quiet tumor
Reaching

Look at Atlas,
His flexed muscles
Atop his torso
Showing his amassed
Strength and Dilemmas,
Symbolic

The woman is rounded
Into fetal position
Cradling her empty
Gut, where lead linings
Rust

She must endure
the pulseless womb
Internally,
Empty

He will never feel this weight
Carried
in her pit, shriveling up
Potential
Against will

She will take on more

Despite this moment
Wedged under a
Ticking clock

Like counting down
Our rock planet teeters
Without her brace

It would be wise of man to
Expect the Fall.



Painting by Adolph von Menzel (1815-1905), 'Sister Emily sleeping' c. 1848 in Public Domain.