Fighting

Smoke stuff
            Mental notes
Unpreserved memories
Synapses rolling slowly
d

o
wn
Where has she been hiding?

Apartment Se7en

Wholeheartedly, I love this place.
The sticky white walls
Dust floor makes for dusty feet
Brown chocolate reminders of privilege
Stucco removed from sight

There is no beige here.

Only a simple complexity
Rough edges of unsynchronized walls
Blue edges of a hidden city
Undiscovered places between
Here and there and everywhere

The lies of knowing the stuff of intelligence
Philosophies, inadequacies, being.

Work in Progress.....

I see the small boy, his hands filled with tiny rocks
He climbs up, throwing pebbles into water
One at a time, they gently drift into the unknown
He seems fascinated with their soft sound, the moment they disappear from view

I see the tall tree, her branches burdened with leaves
She looks at me with anger and fear, controlled by the sun
Over time she bends and curves, mutilated by unseen forces
Then, when she is sick of fighting, lays down in the soft coffin of earth

I see the clever squirrel, his paws soaked in water
Washing away the remains of a stolen meal
He finds another nut, rips it's flesh apart, devours it
He ignores me, too occupied, scanning the ground for his next meal

I see the molten cloud, dancing with the atmosphere
She is slowly fitting into our definitions of her
What at first is intangible comes into view
A cloud, a boy, a tree, a squirrel, a rock.

I are We am

There is a luminescent apex at the centre of our eyes
The universe collides with endless star stuff, carbon dated diamond moments
The microcosm of every larger thing
Lies like a child, restlessly sent to bed early
We are that shinning singularity, captured only in brief remembrance, tiny hands on the endless clock of Time
We are that bright instance a rough patch on a gravel road, the twinkling moon as seen from the ocean floor
The prairie highway populated with secret stories
The branches of the bush heavy with dust, collecting water and ambition, growing inward

There is a subtle paintbrush that decorates the back of my head, dances in the green leaves, and heralds the unknown particles of a magical somethingness

I are water and earth and light and breath we am the negatives and subtleties and expansions and praises