it lives in the chest
it’s a swelling feeling
warm
constricting, but not in a bad way
more like a hug
it’s tight in the throat 
and wet in the eyes
it shakes the hands
and legs
while the brain bounces
with each grateful thought

it’s opening night
and we put on a show
we told the stories of our lives
our happiest moments
our most embarrassing
the meaningful
and painful ones we’ve survived
our stories were received
in the vaults of all the hearts
sitting in the seats

and while i sat there in my light
a deep connection 
to my human roots flowed through me
as the audience’s energy fueled me…
we have been telling our stories
since the beginning of time
and the honor of being chosen
for even one night
as one of the story-tellers
touches me deeply

and the truth is
that it gives so much more back to me
a well of empathy and understanding
the ability to laugh at myself
to share with people who feel alone
and say, “you are not alone”
this is our history
these feelings
these stories
and at the end of the night
once we’ve made it through
together
the thing that fills me most
is love

it lives in the chest
it’s a swelling feeling
warm
constricting, but not in a bad way
more like a hug
it’s tight in the throat
and wet in the eyes
it shakes the hands
and legs
while the brain bounces
with each grateful thought

i am so lucky
and, if i may,
just these two last things:

THANK YOU.

And, my god, we’ve been through so much.

daily is
awash with
space
and time
continues
beastfully on
crushing beautiful
monuments in it’s
course
in childhood dreams
i could always
outrun
silver charm
with my tongue
adulthood seems
much more
unaffected
by my
swaying ways
my muscles
weaker
these days
these days
i hang
off beds
my hair 
a trundle
i riddle my brain
to unlock blockages
the passage seems
stagnant and i feel
lethargy--
boundless energy
no longer within me
but fear of failure
continues to fuel
me
i stride, i stay, i lay
i run and burst
say, “good enough?”
the question always
unanswered
sends me back 
to the drawing 
board

World War Rage
His tone is at once
With biting advance
Asking me to repeat
His previous words
I don’t understand the anger
I say this
If we could calmly speak
We could reach resolve
But he has this blind, raging anger
That will not be calmed
Or reasoned with
He wants to attack, to lash out
To blame someone- me, today
He asks my name so he can remember it
And spout it off to any who will hear
“It’s like you’re a bill collector,” he says, with disgust
“I am,” I state
He wants to go to the top and wage a war
And he wants to say I am the reason
I am not a reason- I am a message
And my message is simple and non-threatening
“This is the bill that is owed.”
My following questions is not asked in judgment,
Simply asked so I may note and move on- my job,
“When will payment be sent?”
For this I am branded the devil
The cause of world war rage.

Choices
I am sitting in my car
It is very cold outside
Earlier this morning
I was yelled at by a man on the phone
Afterwards, I shook
And my heart raced
I think of all of the responsibilities I have taken on-
I remind myself I could lay them down
At a moments notice and run
-disappear a while-
I remind myself that I am free
That I have choices
I start to feel better
I start to remember why I am doing these things
I squint towards the end
And allow a daydream
Of the life I long to live
The man on the phone from earlier fades further away
Other responsibilities become blessings
For the things they may turn out to be
I give my perspective a tug
I pat my soul and say,
“Head up. Carry on.”


























Pictures of our Faces
Do you see my face?
This is a picture of my face.
I posted a picture of my face.
28 this month.
Do you see my face?
What do you think about my face?
Do you like its shape?
This one was really about the background.
This one was a witty remark I remembered.
This one was because I was feeling lonely.
This one was because I wanted you to say I was beautiful.
This one was because I wanted to show I don’t care if you don’t think I’m beautiful.
This one was because I was bored.
I’m not sure if this thing is working.
Can you see my face?
Do you see my face?
Am I here and real?
Do I have value?
Do you see me?
Do you care?
Here is another picture of my face.

Pink Puffy Coat
Pink, puffy coated lady
Walks with head down
Like it’s too heavy
Carries a bag in each arm, red
And a backpack over her shoulders, blue
Waits for the walk light to turn white
This merry, merry season gets to her
The lack and loss of loved ones dear
The loneliness and difficulty of
The daily chores
She cries sometimes, but no one hears
On Christmas day she’ll stay in and watch the tube
Years past she ventured out to churches
But too much sore stuff there for words
Pink, puffy coated lady is alone
And needs a friend
But where to get one- at this age-
And with such sadness suffocating her energies
She’d rather stay at home and pretend
The TV characters are real

there are things we must do for money
and these things are rarely enjoyable
there are things we must do for health
things that feel uncomfortable
but these things are not your life
these are incidentals that must be done
to sustain you
your life is in the moments 
you dare to make your own
when you follow what your heart says
and leap and jump in rhythm with your soul
when you soar in love and passion for the things
that bring you joy
this is your life
the one you will remember
if you invest in it fully
every chance you get
and remember that the incidentals
only are there to support your living
and not the other way around

—never forget.

Tremor fills the arithmetic
My veins run green and blue
I pulse in terror at cruising speeds
My sitting soul sits dead

Dread fills up the morning dew
The coffee heats and makes to heal
I enter cube space with lengthened pause
My head in tense succession falls

When comes the closing bell I guffaw
At last made, but not yet at all
For at home lays work more and more
And in heart, still more and more

Where’s time and do I just let it go
No mention of the losses, no
Just focus on the gains and hope
In time it goes and comes around

We hope it comes around again

germs germs everywhere
coughing, spewing
everyone
droplets of disease falling on my skin
i wince and flinch and
resist running for cover
(it is so, so hard)
never have i been so aware of the germs, germs everywhere
and watching the journey of each germ from the initial contamination to
the multiple infectants
i try to remain normal and focus on the job at hand
even as my insides curdle and i imagine bathing in
bleach at home

the snot he keeps on rolling, hacking, and rolling
the bits that fly out from him as he leans over
controlling my unlearned hand 
i am so completely grossed out
i hold my breath 
i will have to watch this to make sure it does not become a problem
both the germs
and my sudden fear of them


three license plates
i started memorizing license plates as i drove home from work
just to see if i could
it quickly became addicting
i will keep doing this
the first one was H59 5830 black chevy malibu max
the second was DC4 R5R purple Chevrolet car
the third was 5MC 079 red truck


mom asked, "why don't you ever finish the last two bits of drinks and things?"
"that's where the poison is," i said


at the grocery store i pointed at some funny vegetable and laughed
i touched it and said, "this feels like an old, shriveled penis."
mom laughed and we began our journey to the next aisle
when she looked back i had returned to the penis vegetable
to touch it with my other hand

I feel them try to comfort me
I deduce it from their soothing words
So well chosen and carefully placed
And with such tender resignation
They do not stare
Though pity often creeps in the eyes
While their heads hang low with
Arms swung high

As for me on the receiving end
I feel rather circumvent
All slimy and stickless like a
Worn out child’s toy
Their words pour over me
And I recognize their sincerity
But whatever it is that is within me
Buffs and bounces back that fine
Exterior- your words wont grab
my wounds, dear soul, I’m steely
wool and rock ‘n roll

Meanwhile, at home my heart skips beats
My breath gets caught and then re-caught
Like fish thrown back in and
I can’t swim away fast enough
Before I’m caught again
Life is pulling me by the mouth
And it’s clear I’m caving in
I’ve started dripping and heaving
I lay down a lot
And sometimes I forget that
I am- instead of am not

Ho, where is the horizon line
That sun that beat upon the leaves so fine
In autumn when my sweatheart went
I felt the arms of love that fit
In absence I still search for them
And no grievance can be released until
I give up searching on earth’s grounds
Conjure strength inside to let my insides
Out

The truth, dear one, as tears roll down
In death, as in life, you’re still my son.

My passion sits like a house
Solidly built on gruesome land
The inside is beautiful
Full of meaning and every
Artifact is unique and special
But outside this beautiful, solid stead
Lies a strange, harsh and weary world
With winds beating down upon its structure and
Ground that trembles as you try to stand
There are quakes that break cracks in the foundation
Shattering the porcelain things so rare
And fires that threaten you from over yonder-
So close, it’s chilling, yet
Here we are
-still living.

My passion sits like a house
That’s moving
A double-wide that’s whizzing
Down the highway
With bugs
My orientation is disoriented
Which way is north?
Where is my future going?
Will my house be ever uprooted?
Will it find its way back to solid ground?
Furthermore, does solid ground exist?
Furthermore, what is the cost of a broken heart?
Furthermore, the thought of two steps forward,
One step back fills me up so fiercely with fears
Of dying without
Without
Without
Getting there.

Getting there.

“There” is my home/my passion.
“There” it is thriving.
“There” is everything
everything
everything
I’ve worked for
Still am working for
Can’t EVER stop working for
Because if I EVER stop working for
I CANNOT function in this life
Because unless you KNOW THIS
Unless you’ve always KNOWN THIS
IF YOU'VE NEVER KNOWN THIS THING
THIS FIRE that burns
This desire greater than ANY other
To make a dream come true
That to kill it would kill you
UNLESS YOU’VE KNOWN THIS
Then you can NEVER UNDERSTAND
That when my home/passion
Is uprooted
I feel like my insides are murdered
And though I know my own strength
And determination
The fallback hits me hard like bricks
And trickles down stones that hit my head with
“What if this is it?”
“What if this is it?
“What if this is it?”
And I KNOW THAT CANNOT BE
THAT NOTHING WITHIN MY POWER CAN
LET THIS BE IT
Because my CREATIVE FORCE is a DRIVER
On a CROSS THE UNIVERSE TRIP
And it doesn’t end until I
CEASE TO EXIST

quiet
and it is nice
simple
no music, no talk
meditative
working the 9-5
anonymous in the 
shoe warehouse
they speak Chinese around me
they are family
i am a pale outsider
working under them
i keep quiet and enjoy
being nobody
no phone, no break
no lunch, no need
for the first time in a while
i finally relax
put my focus on the
task, task, task
such beautiful silence
keeping company
slow the heart beat
hush the rush
a reprieve from the
pressure of fulfilling dreams
and then
they go home 
to each other
and their others
i to myself 
and my dogs
a tune, a story
perhaps silence again
and i don't get their lives
and they don't get mine
but we work side by side
don't bother trying to 
figure it out
just enjoy the quiet
and do the work
and pass our lives
punching clocks

THE NIGHT

I’ve come to dread the night
those long infinite hours
that I fail to fill with sleep
awake and sitting, laying
eyes opened, mind racing,
heart beating way too steadily
to allow for resting
it is peaceful, yes
but what angers me
is my improper use of the time
I think, “this is the perfect
moment to spend on sleep-
no better place for it in my day”
and yet my body stays wide awake
a stubborn, sting-eyed mystery
defiant of traditional scheduling
I try to turn on some soothing music
but just find myself drawn into the
emotions of the piece- a new experience
freshly carries my wakeful self
to places fit for dreamscapes
without the sleep
and then back to reality
with the last chord
now more than ever
fully charged
filled to emotional capacity
with needs and desires
loss and lust
I lay in bed and shut it all off
decide to ponder
hope that leads to the
inevitable saunter through
the somber greys of deep conscious
diving

------------------------------
KNOW ME

I live for someone to know me
to know who I am
and how I think
and how I feel
and to, most of all, find it special
I don’t mean special out of all
our species
I just mean special to them
to have who I am and
what I think and
what I feel be special
and to mean something
to them

I am a ferocious reader
an avid dog-ear-er
between the line scribbler
and I hope someday
when I’m gone
someone picks up one of
my favorite books
and flips to a dogged ear
and reads a passage
and reads my underlines
and my notes
and knows me better

I write things down
because I want them to be read
my words are evidence to my life
and your reading them is the
acknowledgment

I am here
soon I will be gone
please inspect my life
like a detective
please care enough to search
through each piece of paper
read each word and account
and know me as fully as I’ve
let myself be known

I’d give it all away to everyone
if they just asked-
but it is rare to meet the person
truly deserving, truly meant to
know you and appreciate your
own rare breed of humanity

the highest honor

to know someone fully