Friday, July 27, 2012

Fragile #4

I can't feel my toes when I run in snow
but my lungs come alive
and my heart glows in my breath
I think that's all that matters


maybe I like to walk on sand for the glow that uncertainty gives me
the smallest grains of stone slipping away beneath my feet
maybe I am tired of being so certain
soft imprints on a beach full of cutting shells, broken glass, nigh-perfect smoothed rocks
you can't tell what kind of footprints, only that something walked there
the one who holds certainty for everyone
not made inconsequential by the size of the grains
well, have you ever tried to sweep away the beach
small things don't make lesser problems
and I've tried being the uncertain one [ha.]
the same way tides wash away marks, the place my trust should be
fills in with sand and weltschmerz
                                                        [a word which here stems from
                                               strain forever placed on the reflexive
                                    persuasion, unflinching assurances,
                          like a muscle taxed too long in one hold,
                                                        afforded to those surrounding me]
credit is due, because twice or thrice I have
let my hidden guards down to be met with a cradle
high-beach sand, dry, packed, purified by wind, steadied by grasses
safety net cradling a line, It Will Be Okay
brief respites of rest to re-center, re-cross, re-construct
splinters of time where I can balance on the shifting ground of
support that is almost sufficient
an almost-perfect spiral shell, a sad surprise of blackened sea creature
more often I hold myself
caught with the knowledge that best is sometimes not enough
making me remember to keep pushing
so much like playing tag with the tide
it's always this choice, the same
there will be no dodging
there is a tantalizing bribery of natures
to be presented at the end
sweeten your disposition to sweeten the deal
selling out for a lack of danger
exactly the size for folding in of selves
an implosion of value

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Utah landscapes

lavender fields

shimmery-salt-dirty lake

golden stubble acres strewn with cows/llamas/sheep/horses

sagebrush studded     
       brown dirt
   desert juniper blessed miles

 Utah lake, Utah cloudscapes,
        inescapable sunset eyecandy

blue, bluest blushing brilliant
   sky, open freedom skies

altogether a little
  raw around the edges
  and under the surfaces
  shooting raw into our
  hearts, our veins, wrapping
  wild around our spines

dry dusted summer skin

cool windy wild canyons

lucid star slipstream towing a luminous hopeful moon

Moore, OK, 2:30 AM

too bright
too much light
asking unravelly yarn brain
snagged on my request
warm red winter sweater
cold grey metal fence
metal request
trying to furnish warmth
uncomfortable, itchy parallels
         don't do this, don't just
      no more patterns
17 and never even ever
wasting wishes on petty things
war in the world and
occupied with this?
focus on this?
too much. too much.