Civilization blinks, breaks, like dust, gone

We stand as trees
Proud and varied
Close but still breathing
Still strong
Nestled in our branches the edifice above
Creaks and groans
Held above by log and lies
Blood coagulated
The soft peace of a life without struggle
Ok is good enough
Grows heavier
Boughs break
Weight settles
The sky breaks through
Around us
Once tall and safe
Lay stumps
Shifting shivers bark
Fear begins to sway
Waiting for our turn
Waiting to break
To burn
Or merely to fade
As hope fails
As last light
Which
New found
Now fades
And into the unknown
We proud
We strong
Roots deep
Shiver in fear

A pandemic is no time to be iconoclastic

You roll the dice
Walking around hoping
Laughing and drinking
Why care
You fell ill but you were dine
What’s the big deal
Go to work
Scratch your face
Cough lightly on the water fountain
It’s fine
You feel fine after a few days
No worries
You hear that Kev in marketing who sometimes flirts with you is home sick
No worries he’s young
He bounces back and is in his cubicle the next week
You hear his grandmother is sick
Poor dear
You pray for her
But you know it’s not something you did
How could it?
You’ve been ok for a few weeks
A week passes and more people on the floor are going home sick
That Kev really gets around
Then you hear Kev is out again
Sick? You ask
No, his grandmother passed, the poor dear
Thats awful you say but she lived a full life
You watch the news and hear that this thing might be serious but the president says in a few weeks everything will be back to normal
He must know, though that doctor kept butting in
Another week and people can work from home but only if management approves
No one wants to be the one who abandons ship so you all stay
You see that a local retirement home has a bunch of cases and a couple more deaths
Couldn’t be your fault
You’re fine
You here Kev is back and his eyes are puffy from crying
He’s taking this very hard but then you hear his grandfather is sick and his father is on a ventilator
His family is having a hard time
But the country will be fine by April, right?

Sip whiskey with me, I’ll show you worlds

I’m one part shattered heart, one part battered soul
Three parts protective, two parts sexy times.
I’m a clock wound so tightly for so long that I’ll never quite spring back. A timepiece built of hours devoted to love but in the silent lonely, to tears.
I’m a disciple of science and a priest of storm. I see no reason to deny gods; just to fight them. I believe in the philosophy of the human spirit and am woefully disappointed in its apparent lack. I know what it is to live without wanted human touch and what it is to drown in its addiction. I am always uncertain how my dreams and love will be received. So I will second guess and apologize, leaving you wondering if I really had done something wrong. When I love, it’s forever. And while that seems romantic, there are places in me reserved for loves which will never be. Places filled with longing and pain and almost and maybe. I am tears shed without regard to propriety or place. I feel and I will not apologize. If that makes you think less of me then I no longer require or respect your opinion. I am strength in weakness, bravery in fear, and hope without cause. But I am also unexpected fragility and hide myself in talk of blood. No one looks too deeply when they can’t be sure of the answer. I am wishes unfulfilled and wishes granted. But some wishes can never be. No matter how much you need them.
I am soft opinion and persuasive thought. And secrets never to be told, and secrets yearning to be believed. I feel old and look young. Stress makes me sexual, it doesn’t cause wrinkles. Silve hairs since I was twenty but deep brown for all that. If I were rich I’d be less wealthy because taking care of my people is my priority. I’d help them build lives of joy if I had the means. I am a shout made for joy. Of love. Of ownership. Of mine. But respectful of consent, I remain silent. I am pleasure made pain and pain made pleasure. I am two divergent and equally held beliefs.
I am
I am
I am

Think but this….

Living in a tragedy gets old. Dystopian elections of battered hopes where men fall prey to honest ignorance and are pulled to pieces drowning out the message. Each rally set outside of an election year calls to mind another authoritarian in black and white; a dead mans message of terror spread out to the stars propagating at light speed. Years pass and life continues with battles and fights to hold on. With love and a renewed hopefulness and the crush of long distances. To hear her voice, to watch her dance in joy. Then a waking from a dream and a virus wreaks havoc, exposing the flaws in logic more boldly than a hundred hours of documentary and late night talk shows. But still conspiracy conspiracy conspiracy they whisper and while I speak only in shadows and darkness still my heart remains because of she’s there. Hair wet symphonies and silence. Driving to work for a company who has tenuous grasp on reality but the commute is short. Trying to convince aging parents to take this seriously but hearing Fox news reach up their spine and spout false talking points. Despair but with rapid eye twitches from lack of sleep. Still…I’m not dead yet. Time enough for love and joy. Death is coming and that’s no lie. But he is my brother. I know him well. And I am not afraid.

A ballad of lost starlight

There are nights
Bright with purpose
Skies infinite voids dotted with a rage of long dead infernos
The soft crisp air dreams of you dancing as if in melody to the hum of the city
The hush of the world as it slowed and waited
A pause between inhalation
Drunk on the heady spice of a path unfolding
A future without limits
Nights found after the club
Before the cab ride back to your place
Moments in transition where the universe itself is unsure of what’s next
It’s not that these moments happen less
It’s that we aren’t there for them
As the world wears away
And we find ourselves asleep in the middle of splendor

Waiting for the door to open, having lost the desire to go through

I’ve talked about big things
Past things
Love things
I’ve talked about social things
Emotional things
Psychological things
I’ve talked about the inner workings of my soul
About music
About poets
I’ve written erotica
One off spy stories
I’ve turned a one off erotica story into a fool blown series with characters and plot
I’ve written, performed, recorded, and edited a serial novelization told in 3 voices and perspectives which span numerous hours and which took an hour of editing per 5 minutes of audio.
Then I did that 2 more times

But now I’m having trouble finding words
But really it’s finding time
Time to sit and be without worry weighing me down
Without concern for finances which never consumed me before
I’ve been lucky enough to have a place to land
I’ve been lucky enough to have freedom enough to be able to write
Even though that’s not how I make money
I dislike having lost that
But I’ve traveled the road of preservation of past instead of future
And that is always filled with painful regrets
Paths cut before completion
It’s like there is a membrane where before was a open door
Writing still exists on the other side
Just now it’s an effort filled with stress and struggle to get there
Maybe it’s lack of sleep
Or maybe living unsettled like this is always a shatter away from failure
The thinner the margin the harder the fall
And at some point the fall seems inevitable

Pause….Just be

To find beauty in the heart of the storm
Surrounded by destruction and
Endings
Find stillness
Silence inside
Slow breathing
Feel the pulse
Blood moving through veins
Slower
And slower
Close your eyes
Feel the rage of the storm
Feel the terrible fury
Now open your eyes
Look upon the storm
See the faint thread of endings
Feel the pulse of life
Find where destruction ends
See the point at which ends begin
Now
Breathe deeply
And feel
Connected to the faint sliver moment
The pause in the pulse
Where ends shiver in waiting
To begin again

A lifetime of coping skills

I forget the hells I’ve been through working through trauma
I forget them having lived with them daily
Having worn down paths I my soul
Having found bolt holes in those paths which could short-circuit a memory
Or provide a moments respite
I can see the moments of trauma and the pain is distant
Not disassociated
Just distant
What forgiveness of self
What justice
What clarity feel like at the end of a long road
But those bastions of safety
Those places and thoughtforms
Which gave solace
Those places of peace I hollowed out
Lay forgotten
But I’ve begun to revisit them
And realize that they provide safety from the daily trauma of being alive
Refuge for the broken
A realization that healed doesn’t mean mended
That acting as if the trauma was the only reason for pain has inflicted more trauma
If only by tiny increments
Now I sit, in my bastion, not alone
Not alone anymore
But still
Free to feel pain
Even if everything is better

Split bell resonance

Nothings wrong
Nothings wrong
Nothings wrong

Nothings wrong
….
Except I’m tired

Nothings wrong
Except I teared up for no reason other than imagining someone holding me and telling me that everything would be okay

Never mind that I don’t know what everything is

Nothings wrong
But my words come slowly if at all
What was a torrent is now leached slowly to the surface
Barely a trickle
Barely a mouthful

Nothings wrong
Except the distance and the daily

Nothings wrong