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to be a butterfly
to emerge not once but
twice on this earth
at first so humbly
caterpillaring around
consuming, anticipating
chrysalis
its a fun word we don’t
get to use enough
unfolding, unwrapping
wings drying, beholding
a universally accepted beauty
fluttering — notice,
we never say flapping
proboscis, curled
for two weeks
burning the candle
at both ends
a vacation for
the soul, after a long
lifetime of work
then back to the pool
ready for human form,
again — time to grow
You’ve worked high
and you’ve worked low
for most of your years;
its been quite a show!
By aeroplane and automobile
your been near, and gone far.
On the wide road of work,
you’ve been a fast car!
Despite the long hours,
and with kids at your feet,
you put pen to paper
and made the ends meet.
You may have left work,
but your work is not done–
life is an adventure
and this part is so fun!
Because the measure of a man
isn’t in a gold watch,
or a pat on the back
from an overbearing boss…
And nor is it Who He Was
and What He Did,
but instead is Who He Is
and What He Does
So love the past
for delivering today;
but what happens tomorrow
is yours to say!
Thank you for
all the work you’ve done;
for the opportunities you’ve given
to your looney-bin son.
You can go outside
and relax in the sun.
Or do anything else
that sounds like good fun.
I love you, Dad.
30 you’re just
a number, too but
still my life shatters
on your approach but
by the time you arrive
i’m reassembling
devoid of
kings horses and
kings men
i’m forced to
gather the
pieces myself
but since these
little jagged bits
are already crumbled
i’m finding a
better way to
put them together.
I will soak
through to the bone
some rainy days
Some scorching days
my skin will die
ultra-violently
on desolate others
I won’t talk to
a soul
or the ones i see
will treat me like
a nuisance
some fearful days
i will cry because
i miss you
on loving days
i will laugh because
we’re so close!
a god
disguised as
a vagrant
but then
also vagrants
are god
transforming
from knowledge
to experience
creating a path
from asphalt and
inspiration
would you like
to know the
deepest secret?
held between
the road, the bike,
and me?
:
.
(i am free!)
98.6
you’re just a number
why must you elude me
while I want for
nothing but
continuity
all i get instead
are your waves of
hot and cold
manipulating my body
like the throes
of a rollercoaster
i want to jump off this
click-clacking tormentor,
and hit the ground
one way or
another but preferably
feet first
your electrons;
press them closely to my electrons.
the repulsion of negatively charged particles
never felt so attractive.
My heart…ha!
This simple sack of fluid-filled muscle,
thumping its sloppy, organic beat:
What a wholly unremarkable
metaphor for the
unconsolable and
insatiable burn that
I bear!
nonetheless;
When you are close,
it beats faster
and with greater purpose,
pitching my awkward
body into a fever,
cascading me with the
so-much-more that is
outside myself
and yourself–
but is both of us.
a late start
a whirlwind morning
moved by a bus
instead of a bike
moments spent here
and getting back there
all comes together
perfectly timed
so you may hear
those words, dear
chance?
or something else?
in any case
a gift for you
trust, honesty, openness
everything will be okay
you are loved by many
include yourself
i am inspired
for your sharing–my thanks
dim stars twinkle messages from eons past
obscured by the spires of distant fires
the dusty moon punctures the black sky
with a rusty salmon glow
erect trees hang delicately curved branches
meeting their peers for a twiggy handshake
designed to shroud me in a verdent tunnel;
through this i excitedly plummet
the hiding sun makes way for cool breezes
my jacket bellows, inflated
every vulnerable patch of skin is delightfully cooled
pockets of warm air massage my spine
my headlight urges photons across the asphalt plains
I can see only so far; darkness, the unknown, lie ahead
my mirrors are solid black; they reflect nothing
but the past, which rushes away as fast as I move forward
a smile cracks the corners of my mouth
my gloved hand twists the eager throttle
embracing these unknowns
enjoying the journey, awaiting the sunrise
with empty bottles and
forgotten strawberries our
eyes swirl and
bodies tangle
not a breath of air may
pass between us;
not a single stone is
left unturned
but its not the wine
that drives this
venture to
divinity:
high tide,
the fusion between
parched land and
drowning sea,
prescribed by
neither vast ocean
nor endless beach,
presses from above–
inspired by the
omnipotent influence of
a reflective moon it
rises and falls.
the water’s edge while
always present is
always constant and
always moving
my heart beats here
trusting, open
honest, vulnerable
perfectly imperfect
