as i sit

as i sit

as i stood beside the rails

crack of lightening eminating to my fingertips

thinking of you

signs come to me

they say

“in case of emergency take this secret passage over here”

they tell me about another train

one that will pick me up when (if?)

we get stuck

and there is also the power trip sign i see

(take third rail for power trip)

i note this

may i need this(?)

too bad i can’t power the train with song

it would pierce through atmosphere

explosive

surprising

and yet hearts bending building

to the exploration at hand

to feet

i look down

i do not know who or what i sm most days

except in your company

heart beating

watch checking

(watch? no be real you don’t own that)

–because no one owns time–

(because you don’t wear a watch)

it’s true

hypnotic realism

bits of words that expound their meaning

like abstract pain upon canvas

i picture you looking into the shape of these words

and the flickering light of the train

like it gave all it had

still i could

in a moment between moments

track

i could find the point that becomes the thing

i could rest my fingers on the pulse of the unrealized moment

it wants to move

and yet maybe it lets go instead

and so i

in stillness

listen

watch

the beauty of the night

and only my words reach out

while i sit

quietly

 

random thoughts

random thoughts

i have not written in poet format in ages

but tonight i am listening to my space music

i am floating over obstacles

and it is magical

it is the only way

this is less of a poem

and more of a poetic description

incription

of what i will write

what will be

it’s more

hey these are the impulses to write

and less of what exactly

i have an ongoing list

i have a list within the brain

memory

each time i see the same welcoming faces

i remember again

oh yes

right

i had a thing i was going to say about that

i actually have words about that

a point of view i’d like to offer

(if you will)

without divulging the full contents of this cylinder of

circuitous thought

i will begin

to

transform

watch me now

i only do this once

hit by a poem

I was listening to Boards of Canada’s “Reach For The Dead” at work and out of the blue, lyrics. Words forming that wouldn’t quiet down or pass until I had written them down. 

Ok, poem. I hear you.


today I was 

plucked out of the 

oppression of time

and placed into

the void

vacuum of space

unconscious 

for seconds that 

stretched into

the expansive 

eternity looking into

the distant Eastern 

horizon 

a place where

floating I could 

see everything 

forgot nothing

remembered once 

I woke to the

operating room

and it was like I had

just

been

born


spring time

waiting for the lady in the mountains

whose footsteps reveal the greenery

vibrancy 

underneath and from the earth

whose voice echoes against rock and through canyons

who calls across distances to awaken 

who stirs the blood with eyes like fire

who welcomes weary travelers with springs of water

who points the way and shows how momentum grows endlessly 

waiting patiently until she reveals herself 

and then there is only brightness and laughter 

directed

when the waves were crashing endlessly 

when thunderous 

the animal inside staring back from between grasses

when the voice amplified too loud to ignore

they chuckled nervously 

shifting eye contact

between them 

looking for places to point their fingers

they were confronted with a mirror

so clear 

so visible

the violations

and yet one scoffed and told us to relax

told us that our reactions were too much

too undone

they tried to rewrite the moment so they were in control

we could have laughed if we wanted

but we stood still

kept to it

kept ourselves

and while the blood boiled

while the eyes narrowed 

we were thankful for enriching ourselves 

with food for thought

instead of poisons 

because in that moment of confrontation 

we heard their stomach sink and flip

while we waited patiently for them to fall on their own

to be written

whistle on the tracks

high pitched hum

the shake and sway

while my fingers catch letters 

words fly forward like a typewriter punching keys

the page is not as empty as it once was

the music continues 

streaming endlessly 

a beat linked together like the words 

they combine together

form a picture with no picture

form sounds when all is quiet

form a memory etched 

as if in stone

from the steady movement

the thoughts that try to slow down to match pace with the body

the body does what it can to collect it all

turn and translate

offer and experiment 

and the mind gives it a nod

the poetry ushered in

shaped from nothing

yet shaped before it began

to be written

to be released into the world of strangeness

to be given meaning 

and interpreted

twisted over

folding over into itself

until the thing is not a thing any longer

need desire wish to communicate

transcend beyond

into understanding 

ah ha moment of connective tissue

fibers of various lengths binding together 

coalesce 

i see now your implication 

your persuasion, poem

in the spritely joining

perfect combination of alphabet

of ideas

into one piece

that is suddenly gone