liberate.

ignite and burn away

the beautiful ability of your soul to cry

i pray that you are here with me now

and that such attributes

are no longer needed.

liberate.

focus on the pear tree

releasing its blossom

like pearls sliced thin

barely heavy enough

to slide down the back of the wind.

liberate.

you bloom where you are planted

vulnerability is the seed

faith and grace become your sunlight

in the perennial whisper

of spiritual photosynthesis.

liberate.

the burden has no weight

in the deep calm of space

and the tears of your heart do not fall now

but merely float

in the pilgrimage to nourish your everything.

liberate.

there are secrets between stars
and you can sense it, quietly,
you can feel it between them,
like a heartbeat shared across a great distance,
there are secrets between stars
and this one is ours...

...and she was the nearest to god i had ever felt,
as if everything suddenly changed
and began to rush towards her center, the baffling
and powerful pull and and push
of an angel on fire...
my Icarus wrapped in silver thorns and velvet...
and the crazy thing about angels, you can
love them, watch them, believe in them, adore
them, but
you can never have them.

and with such weightless delight my spirit has
in knowing safely
that she knows exactly what i mean
without looking too deep
into the core of the meaning...

and i'm glad that she let go
of all that kept her nervous about us
i had always hoped that it was just a matter of time
but it's still nice
when that shit comes true...

and so we were able to share
some more blinking in our secret
nothing too spectacular, nothing life-changing,
just her comet gently resting
on the other bed in that hotel room
last saturday night,

while on the bed across from her
and in rhythm to her hum and breathing
it was 2:48 am
and i was smiling
brightly in the darkness.

little things enter.

as if led by

the most subtle

of magnetic whiskers

as if led by

tendrils of an electric anenome

or a net or a map

woven

from the glittering fumes of falling stars.

little things enter.

through a dozen or so senses

of my human being

like perfectly carved raindrops

shot through and polished with space

and so delicate they seize

when bursting

and radiant in three hundred and sixty degree 3-D

all of me brilliant and infinite and linear

like the first gasp of creation

or glory

and i respond

like this.

i learn myself, and remember

in this experience, and reaction and it can be

the color of an afternoon in a movie, one bend

in a hum of a note in a song, faces

on people or skies or trees

through my window as i'm driving, or the bloom

and smile of a cat as it breaks into a pouring beam

of freshly laid sunlight, and it can be many other things

too,

and so many other such little things catch

sliding around the curves and the pause

on the crest of a moment, and then

i respond

like this.

and so i remember

her smile reflected

in the crashing waves

(and spread in ribbons of moonlight,

fallen from much greater shoulders)

upon them...

and she was so young then

so pale and peach and silver

my jennifer, my charlotte, my delicious

and enigmatic alexandria...

and all of our paint colored breaths

illuminating the symphony of atoms in the ether,

and how in days like this, i sit

almost sad and beautiful, watching the careful

fingers in my mind trying to fasten

down the band-aids and silk tourniquets

around the wet edges of these things...

and the shiver of the great breath

let go in the masterpiece.

for there are no such anchors to bind this

perhaps only the thick and elegant stone of thunder

and perfectly straight edges and lines of lightning

and the magnificent storming

and tears.

and again, it is not for certain

if these were at all things

that i have seen, or

if there can be such a thing

and if at all so, it is not

for certain

how these things will change, and blur,

and sparkle in the puddy and puddles of great

and malleable truth...

oh no my dear

this is at best

only the how it is

of what i am seeing.

yesterday

i was almost sad to be sober

sad because i was certain

of what i saw.

are you fucking kidding me???

did she really just forget

an entire line from our national anthem???

and while poor and dusty bodies

squat in fragile defiance in Cairo

it is Superbowl Sunday in America.

and i don't think anyone really cares

much about the middle east

or honoring the star spangled banner

up at the 81.

i had gone there to see my brother

it's his favorite dive bar, where

everyone knows his name and the drinks

are cheap enough

and the expectations low enough

the 50 bucks is enough

to make you the MVP.

and as i braced all muscles, physical and otherwise

against the heavy coat

of that kind of surrender, i couldn't help but wonder

what every person in that bar would think about

in the last few moments before they closed

their eyes

tonight.

and in the end

it doesn't really matter

it just matters what

i will think about

and from the empire of my midnight pillow

i wondered perhaps

if god was agnostic

and if so

what it was thinking about right now.

sometimes

you have to go your whole life

just to figure out how to live it

and thankfully

wherever you are

and whomever you are

your whole life so far

is just right now

and i've been thinking alot lately

about how to live my life

in fact

i'm doing it right now

and mostly it's some breathing and the analysis

of the moment i'm in

and then like being in a room full of mirrors

or like being inside lungs made of diamond

it becomes a reflection analyzing

the immediately precious shimmer

analyzing the moment back at me

sometimes i can trick myself

and slip

between the images

i can slip into the being

and the moment

it's so beautiful here

don't you think?

analyzing

fat strips of sadness

in rugs of canopy

have settled their weight

unrolled themselves

out from the corners

and upon them i sit.

peering from this posture

watching these days, in scenes,

from the passenger seat

somewhere on the right side of my mind, I am

not sure who is driving, or possibly directing, but I am

watching

from in here, no windows

seem to roll down.

and so I turn up

to the stars

trying to read their lips or make

eye contact, as I can no longer

hear what they are saying, wondering

if perhaps they are too far

for me to hear them, but

they do seem at least

to be quite busy chatting

and blinking with themselves, and so

with a somewhat blurred amusement ( like

being underwater or in a gaseous state ) I

quietly attempt

various strategies to squint

and eavesdrop,

but am equally content to wait

until I am them,

too.