A heart as sharp as a knife

Fear crests in the heart
New
And maybe
And failure that is unacceptable
Crescendo of the possibility
The hope that breathes reality
Unsteady from the dream
The click
Click
Click
Of dominos falling
Of standing stone portents
Of stars weeping and impacts
Shaking the world
What will be
May be
And how to handle the logistical reality
While the heart screams
YES
And runs headlong into the future
The mind plotting paths
Hoping for a few more resources
But building as fast as possible
No schism
Heart and head are goal oriented
Looking towards the long-term truth
That future where need and desire and real talk
Manifest into real arms
Real lips
Safety and shelter
In being seen
Known
And chosen

Shimmer of falling light

How can I be
A dancer on the precipice
When I am so afraid
To fail

Can I choose
A path forward
A step between
To a point of the infinite

What feels like falling
Strength wars with the push
Sleep a promise unfulfilled
Searching for a place of safety

Knowing all along
We might not all make it
Knowing the step forward is the only choice

But all roads are open
How to choose
When choices shut doors
Leading to
Instead of away

No flash photography

Partial phrases atop half written lines
Skin touched to bare metal until it burns
That dizzy feeling when your eyes close and your only thought(hope) is sleep
feel of a hand in yours
The loosed lips promise
taste of whiskey brushed breathe on a tongue filled with knives
Silent smiles of which novels are written
Trashy fan fiction
Steals the light
Packaged and sold for a broken minute
Jacket blurbs
Bland
deleted pages
Ripped away in the dull habit of dreaming

Reflections are merely doors, I’m willing to step through

I have only sad words and hopeless thoughts today
Trending in this down spiral
Reaching for a touch to anchor me
Words of lament masked in strength and laughter
Wanting that kiss, that hold that seems too far distant to ever be real
And still, I dream
And still, I wish
Not in hope
But in planning
Waiting for the last word
Last turn of the card
To make what seems
Into what is

Cyanide and honeyed garlic

Knowledge is the price of freedom
It always has been.
Not the not knowing…ignorance is slavery
No, the price of freedom is Knowing
Knowing truths
Unpleasant, often horrible, truths
Which is why humanity spends so much time and energy hiding
Retreating and backpedaling from the reality that they see
Rising up in glorious moments of comprehension
until they see one truth too many and it sends them scurrying back to the poisoned lullaby sleep of ignorance
That slip back into “simpler times”
The false memories of how good it used to be
Disregarding that it was the persuit of knowledge and a deep distrust of willful ignorance that little by little
dragged you into the a future filled with wonders
Never before in history has humanity had so much
Even the poorest of us
trapped in imposed cycles of blood and poverty have to hand more luxury than ever seen before
And still, the people with the most keep falling back
Keep retreating from truth because
its hard, its so hard
Like children whose days of play have been ripped away
trying for one more minute of ignorance
unwilling to pay the butchers bill that their ignorance has accrued
Instead doubling down again and again
that fevered gambler hoping desperately that they can eak out one more turn of the cards
while the world around them burns,
at last we come to the end of knowledge
abutting its happy and callous head against Truth
Where choices matter more and more
the world changes on a whim
Forged by those who’ve forgotten that it’s the
Enlightened part of self interest that makes civilization work

Each step equidistant from future and past

I am brightness in darkness
Kindness in tragedy
A pleasurable reprieve in the darkling sea
And in the light
The shine that pulled you away from pain
Glimmers with dark light
No bright bird sharing cheer and excitement
Dark croak and sardonic cuts
Too bright for one world
Too dark for the other
And here I stand
On the borders
Betwixt
Calling your name

The ritual of waking

The day begins in reluctance
In putting out of the mind all the things
All the things outside of control
And choose breakfast
My kind of breakfast
Crunchy peanut butter and Strawberry Jam on molasses toast
Downing water
Reading a book
Anything to not think about
Not take the next step
Because then it begins
The shower and the dressing
The shoes I never wear except in the public world
Drawing down my war personality
Pieces of me shutting off
Transition to a darker mien
Each step taking me from where I prefer
From safety
From the place where I grow
To the place where I am diminished
Because, in this world, what I am and what I do
Does not pay for food
For space to breathe
For shelter
Instead I subject myself to the whims of others
Without agency
Without choice except to live in poverty
It’s worse now
Before I was given responsibility
Before I was given trust
And before it was all taken away
Every day it gets worse
Every day I learn more
Maybe enough to leave
But
I’m just procrastinating
That first step to begin the day
To all of us in that same position
Declaiming, in lament, It is what it is
Remember
It is not
Will be
We still have choices
Even if we can’t yet see their horizons

Better a dirge than bitter silence

devolution of appetite yearning for the next pointless acquisition bleeds into limbs
Lifting and depositing eager avarice into wet red clacking maw
Small voices screaming for surcease
Unheeded and ignored
Self destruction made simpler than devotion
Placed pointless to gain ground
Stolen places and time
Daily resolutions
False hopes as it all slips away
Holding too tightly
All dreams
Die