September 2013


As if running could feed me.

Pretend you have arms

That could hold me.

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Sophisticated understandings
yield at….
touch.
You press me thru dirt with
nothing
to hold on to…
See my body thru me
leading
distraction
to
desire.
I touch with fear
what I don’t want to hold….
another.
Constant dreamscape;
hands and eyes ease.
Separate from this world and in turn
tangible.
Refrigerator hum…
bare feet…
cold tile floor.
Kitchen table
of
flowers and poetry,
bags of raisins and prunes,
chopsticks and chiabata,
empty coffee cups, notebooks and pens.
We bend more freely in these winds.
Belief:
We don’t have to die.
How the body unwinds when it believes in
A continuous time.
Centuries for mysteries to unfold..
Leaving wanting
to wander for wonder…
No rush to the stillness of death….
but a stillness in motion toward the living.
I rush toward you
until surrounded by dirt with the sun on my skin.
Every direction a sunset.
Every step towards dawn.
Every moment
a stillness
in motion
toward the living.