i will write

mercy. i love life. i love the people in my life and all of the infinite blessings bestowed upon me. i am awed in each moment; reminded of the opportunities and possibilities, constant, flowing, surreal.

full circle... to come full circle is to re-realize, to remember, to re-discover what always was and what will be. what came before and everything you don't see - yet. it's always, everywhere, just see. i give to others so easily and must be disciplined to do the same for me. must be conscious of each experience, although fleeting. flying past me. to capture in wordsound is my blessing.

she said, fly free. in these broad mountains this feels easy. we hum, each and every. i walk out and see earth in the sky and he said, that immense towering mass was once rockbed. rockbed? i am staring up into what was once the sea? can this be? really? surreal in its reality.

i will write.

no words

at least a dozen poems are rattlin around in my mind and i cannot write. aggravated by the fact that usually all i can do is write. however i never memorize a word. then step up on stage with my sheet safety blanket and read. lawd have mercy on me. que pasa?! i'm writing silly love poems and posting videos and not really writing. not really really writing those words that will put me way out on a limb with my heart on my sleeve and exposing it all full frontal. 'go bare' he said. i shudder. my head hurts and i cannot write. perhaps i misplaced my voice somewhere... i will retrace my steps. maybe i left it on the subway or in the streetcar with one glove or a scarf. i disperse my words among notbooks and laptop files and slips of paper and more notebooks and then feel 'a ways' wishing i could scoop them all together into one heap and sift through the whole collection as though that would give me a sense of cohesion, or completion or contentment. self-sabotage maybe? likely.

for i am at a loss. my frontal lobe throbs and i cannot write. i have a list of potential poems and i put my pen to paper and ... and ... and ...

how bloody anti-climactic. i just want to get them out. ejaculate. maybe then my brain will stop buzzing. i mean, what is sanity, really? and how sane should a writer be exactly? and if i plan to step on a stage, do i really need to just memorize one, two or three? or all? or what? i'm suffering from severe inadequacy. even though the response is almost always 'you are lovely' -

that is not the problem. the problem is with me. i just can't seem to articulate the damn thing. for a writer - that could be the end of me.

could it? really? will this pass? what will become of me (without words?)


there is no light by wildbirds and peacedrums

2009 lovesex quandry

my dilemma -

intimacy in 2009 obliges a level of dialogue
however the conversation to many connotes a level of commitment
before those lines/shapes/squiggles have necessarily been drawn

though i have left some such marks in your back...

so, how to broach or approach this conversation
without the misinterpretation/accusation
that this wom/hu/man wants to lock you down?

because i truly don't give a fuck what we are doing or where this is going
i do not need a label or a drawer or a sweater with a letter or a ring

all i really want is to pin you down
with my body, my mouth on your mouth, our limbs entangled
(at times, not all the time, but sometimes)
(in this case, in addition to our friendship)
in this present moment. today.

remembering tomorrow is a new day.
knowing neither can commit to feeling the same way
tomorrow as we do today.

truth is 2009 obliges
a mutual understanding for
reciprocal esteem of both mind and body
some sense from both parties of
truth and trust in the 'thing'

particularly that neither is
the unsuspecting third party
to danger or deceit,
can you feel me?

'cos baby, i can easily risk my heart
but my self-respect and physical health
are much too dear to me,
and much more so than the idea of 'we'.


my very best poem

i only want to give you my very best poem
i don't want to share any old poem
only my very best poem

i've skimmed several pages, all disparate,
review different files, flipped through every weathered notebooks
searching for that one very best poem
for you

and no one poem
feels just right
is quite right
for this occasion
for you

so i skirt the stage
remain in my seat
purse my lips
and hold this feeling in

this fretting, this distressing
that none of my poetry
is good enough to me
for you


i miss you

the sun is shining
i look upon these broad white mountains and
i miss you

moments we've shared
too few
distance our physical bodies
i wonder
do i even really know you

could i?
will i ever?
will you?

if we spend a lifetime together

and in your presence
what will i feel
will distance still
push me away from you

intangible distance
the words i cannot articulate
instead i'll just say

i love you
i love you
i love you

always have
even before
i knew you
even before
i knew what it was
to miss you