Underneath it all

underneath the fragile lightness of this cold icy shell, carry's on, life. its cracks, ready to be absorbed by the world at work, below its crispy layers of protection. like most outer layers, shells shield the being beneath. yet as its cracks run shallow, true nature wants the inside out, and the outside in. And life waits patiently, to absorb and dismantle, when the seasons change. to let being, live again.

the space in between

My body stands in the in-between of two distant worlds, that bump at my sides but never collide, and only squeeze my insides. Neither belong to me, or hold me deep. The one I try to let go is familiar and forgotten, small remnants of a past life exist in unsupervised moments. The one that strays from my grasp is unknown and runs deep, casts shadows and rays, reaching to pinch a not too distant future. My present world exists to wander back and forth between both, a safe place to manufacture scenarios of insights, hindsight’s and foresight's. Their safety means nothing and everything, as I inch forward to mold a new model of me, before the next cast is broken.

where we began

stale air pushed through ceiling fans, 

breaths life into me. 

music like molasses above our heads, 

drips onto private courtyards 

to sweeten ice tea 

innocent streets awakened in mid afternoon 

by shadows of giants and dancing ice cubes 

soul foods waft through filigrees 

and find home on blank paper 

until plates are empty and canvases full 

with our thoughts and dreams 

our time to savor 

we let the air stand still

the power of one

to be moved by the souls own power
is knowing amongst uncertainty
calm in the presence of change
and love amongst the face of indifference

Ebb and Flow

My mind wanders and trips over itself with uneven matter and loose notions at the source. Now that the box is unlocked, complication and resignation take a new stronghold. A smaller amount over which to reign, but a reign nonetheless. My ideas carried out to sea on tiny pieces of draft wood, then dumped moments later on my shores, joining all my others washed up before them. Rank with self pity and murky waters.

Rather than look for a buoyant object, I riffle through the debris for fragments to occupy my time, weigh me down, and complicate me yet again. Natures natural selection no match for the strength of my mind on a rampage of self sabotage.

I pick up what's left over, over and over again, even when the sharp bits pearce me and the world gets dark. For the moon stays up with me and I play her. An accomplice that I know will be back for more tomorrow. When I first notice that the moon has swapped shifts with the sun, I'm yet to determine if I'm still dreaming or never shut my eyes.

Totem Poles and Telling Tales

I let ten years flow through me while I danced blindly around the totem pole. The ancient traditions that made me twirl, were made up of the same pasts as my reoccurring choreography. Until I looked up, and saw the totem pole for the first time, as my own.

Ornate carvings intertwined with graffiti, scratches and chunks missing, sometimes from clawing my way or holding on by the tips of my flawed fingernails. Turning my face up to the sky, I noticed the sun cast a shadow from the thick wood and illuminated the sun dial of my time. Surrounding me in orbit, dwarfing my fraction of existence, my kernel of time on this planet. Watching the shadow as though a time lapse photography expressed some urgency with my realization. Here and now.

Rain

Raindrops suspend on the railing,

like suckerfish under the belly of a whale

My imperfect reflection takes shape in their perfect form. One hundred eyes looking back at me. Their glassy top coat catching the overcast glow of the puddle pools nearby.

Their dangling defiance holds me in as another minute passes. Each pod preserving the remains of last nights storm and the beauty of our morning after.