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


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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

shifting viewpoints of the night sky

night sky

a blanket that is not smoothed out

the light from a full moon can be piercing 

making eyes water 

bright and blurry

until shifting gaze

looking differently into the distance

the nuances of the moon’s exterior 

are in full view

detail takes my breath

and gives it to the beauty of the moment 

the stark difference between brightness and dim

the eyes see colors long after they look away

left with the remnants of what it was like to see contrast

like ghosts that follow

until they dematerialize into the softness of night

the cover

the blanket

that provides protection while the mind settles into itself

and the new stars dance

in new ways

to new timing

to new music

the wonder of which

the depth of which 

is infinite

i live on a planet of sound

i live on a planet of sound 

highs and lows form the landscape 

the temperature

the texture 

echoing calls from far off

voices that carry over tremendous distances

a beat that makes walking an adventure 

a thrill

 an experience 

clouds you could reach to 

warm harmony 

that drifts into a distant horizon

you

you are just a barking dog

you are the the inconvenience of waiting in a line

you are the crack in my neck when i stretch

you, i don’t care about 

you i don’t care who is annoyed by the way in which i move

you who acts angry 

you pierce through none of my guard

you who talks to me like a little  girl

you who talks to me like i can’t comprehend 

you who don’t like my music

you who don’t like how i speak 

you who must take up more space than you need

and want me to give it to you because you  think 

i will fight you

or won’t fight you

you who are my friend but act like you hate me

you who don’t trust me

you who can’t see me

you who don’t care

who looks at your phone while walking 

walling off yourself to what world you are in

i’m not angry at you

you i know you more than you

and you who is more than the you i see

you who i burn to see

you who i want to be around

you i’m so anxious to see

you because i think you are more than the you i know

you i hope you want to show me that

the many little things of today

went a new way today

discovered a surreal plant

discovered how one street was connected to another

did many small things

that i hope will have an impact

felt better when i left 

than i did as i entered

taking a deep breath

here we go

found ways to help those around me

found little things i could do to protect them from stress

i am grateful for that

it makes me see myself differently

and remember who i am 

all night 

sweat

room full of magenta purple 

bright light pans every corner

tiny moving reflections circle the room

expanding into points warped by their orbits

and 90s house beat

vibrating basslines that carry us across

warm mid levels

with synthetic piano 

dancing shadows move in a small room

crowded 

empty

each one alone even in the of warmth of togetherness 

while the beat goes on

singer calls over the anthem something we can all relate to

but the joy is personal 

we hold it in

don’t express it except through

constant movement 

as the music builds

beat gets thick

basslines so heavy that it would be impossible not to move

filling every corner

every cell

every thing

even the floor

the light

imbued with sound 

that becomes the bodies

becomes the space 

becomes each movement

burning strong

the beads rolling down sides of faces 

until eyes begin to realize where they are

music transforms

a gust of air spreads love

relief

and then the people dance not too the music

not just to the music

but the moment of connection 

when eyes are seen

hands are felt

smiles are revealed

morning air

when the sky looks like a thin mist

bright blue mixed with clouds from another world

when music seems to hang on the air

and everything is vibrant, as if truly deeply more real than what reality is

when the chill of the air brings excitement 

dancing to become warm

hands in pockets

running in place

bringing arms in to hug the sides of bodies

hot air coming from mouths and noses

turning to the curling mist visible at the horizon 

chill that touches the back of eyelids eyelashes

when the crispness of morning awakens 

the eyes that look up to see the newness the oldness the solidness the opacity 

and trailing melody drifting into distant mountains