and these too

Most of the time I am listening to some album or song on repeat for weeks at a time

we're here to listen, or you could say we're hear to listen

6/13 journaling

Then it dawned on me this morning while making breakfast, self worth, have I really strayed so far from my core that I have lost sight of this elementary truth? While I have been engaged trying to share warmth with her, And receive warmth from her, Warmth from the world, can the world give one worth? It does, yet through my own lens. Then there are some that I cannot give to myself. Like tender mouths, touch, the feeling of bodies becoming transparent to each other as they twist, grasp brutally, caress, unknot.

These are beauties only lovers know. These are that which I desire, from her, or from some where that I have not yet met. There is loss, rejection, desire. How can one contain these voices and maintain worth? Self love? I make the long voyage away from lover back to self containment, my own happiness, my worth.

I speak to her within my own vortex of fictitious dialogue . “It doesn’t feel good to me, hanging out with you.” “I give always to you, you cannot give to me what I need, or what I want, or you don’t.” but you never hear this coming out of my mouth, because you will never ask. That is what is meant by this feels bad, and you don’t give me what I need, which differs with what I want, in that what I want is a lover.

need

Just to be received, cared for, cared about, facilitated, nurtured. Ahhhhh. Release. Breath, ok that no emailed poem, text, or call in the night will save me. Loitering in dreams does help a bit. The scrambled imagery of woman from my life and ones of the dreamers invention, taunting, placating. And then eventually one must get up.

If you wear yoga pants casually i will

be friends and even dress up for the both of us

whatever cloth unknotted and knotted from irresistible woman

last night was another night where I calmly sat spinning

In the comfort of your home, with its wooden floors

and quarreling idiosyncrasies

mine too, quarreling, I am in the arms of my lovers and bereaved

inside my chest, a mire, my mind a reckless fictitious confabulation

Jaunts on the phone today, I also feel the summer weighted with solitude

Even though I am busy with them

(Adrian Orange) - “Its not that I don’t want no friends, but just that I am really alone anyway until the end”

why I smoke

Why do I stand here in the cold burning my mouth
my singed tongue meets my longing for a mothers milk I never knew
Oh lovely mother
you also fell from lofty heights
a nocturnal owl witnessing the deformed and bludgeoned reality of the emergency room
forgot me
to tell me of your love
which is certainly there beneath your worn face
driving you mad
that is why I smoke

GRACECENTEREDINCREASE (having crossed some great waters)

Hope is a hard place to maintain
A person who hopes he wont spend another summer here
the only recourse to dream
under the mountains
one is constantly looking upward for inspiration
where above the skyline of pine branching out reluctantly blaring sun across the sharpness of black rock
I live
heady, billowing, clouds, under-shadowed, seamless blues, the sky
since I came back from "the city" I have only lived to dream
collected scraps of mugwort
So (sleeping with mouth open) I could be closer to her, intense brown eyes
I have been filling up on shadows of her adorning me with touch that I have written the script for
when I awake I am disoriented
Where am I?
this place under the mountains
after crossing the great waters, literally
body and mind
there is always a toll?
As I have been taught "bring a prayer"
A week ago I was perched up on a sunken sea craft
a long gentle crossing, the prayers did help
bottle beach, I loved those woman picking at her endless laundering of humanity
across the planes I kept myself from weeping by admitting I could learn
to be friends
climbing into bed just awkward when she finally rolls over to me for a moment and holds my stiff unresponsive body
now we have two
and a very lovely drive between friends
expansive mind
joy at knowing the world as beautiful
the color- grass and sage, mounded hills mingled with awkward rows of corn bleeding at her contours
then as the purple sky reflected farewell to the sun great forested bodies of water surrounded by giants
dark emerald clusters, shimmering these weeping arches, juniper
what silver left behind catches on what resembles russian olive
A shaman in the clouds
the purple reflected in water
talking softly of longing
paths
without mentioning the feet, souls
I meant to
They where scattered among the shore
notice the wind molding the sand and the squawking of sea birds
the same wind that has stirred me all along
and encouraged the bells ring (just often enough)
A bell that is forged by human hand, fire and wind
sounds just so
to the ear
we have inner truth, or centeredness
a spring that swallows the noise
a leaf who trembles the wind
a flower who gave birth to its seed
hope is like a child
The heart is an infant and a miser
every breath one endures the dream