I used to know this man with plaid shorts and never ending white shirts

(Jonah)

And much like the story he became swallowed
by music and life and darkness

Three nights of laughter

Three nights of writing

Three nights of hope

Yet there is no shore or Ninevah

Instead I saw him wrangled and spit out into Chicago

Lost and mute

And now,

Probably dead

Think white, think light
Light had always spilled panic
Shadow fingers swaying, playing
And time, the destroyer, creator of crippling scars

I watch the curtains billowing, breathing in and out
The maddening clock ticking too slow
The wind in the trees, the wind in the vines moaning
And the wind in the wires, adding their low mournful whistle

My words are lost to the wailing wind
The words are just memory
Guarded, cold words, each one checked and censored before it is spoken
A cheap weapon to bludgeon myself with

There is something in our minds
Like sunshine and the weather, which is not in our control.
I can close my eyes
And feel the tickle of grass on my toes,
Light as the touch of sun and air
I want to be dust borne on the wind
Everything moving, all of the time
Blow freely to the creek where gentle riffles purl lazily on the rocks
Then drenching rain, both stimulation and refreshment to the spirit
Life – as wondrous as it is deeply unsettling
gives me an essential skill for self-preservation

I remember being so young, I used to cry.
Over inevitable realizations, we each must die.
Cursing creation, for these desperations of why.
Still didn't understand the way these souls fly.
My place in the universe or these slices of pi
Just a slave to vanity with attachments of "My"

Stop belonging to me so much, face-head
Leave me to my child and my flowers.

I cant run with you hanging on to me like that
Its like having ten dogs on a single lead.

and no talent for creatures
No hands, not trees. Not my dogs, nobody's.

Dont you have a place to go face-head?
Deep into the brick basement of another life?

To kill some time, I mean. That furnace
Light could take a shine to you

There are always places, none of them mine
And always time - rainbow sugar show

In my constant search for connection
Some promise of spiritual fulfillment
Some homecoming grandiose
That can not possibly exist
I break my own heart millions of times
Whilst tripping over familiar quagmires
Subtle bumps or wide ravines
Dissonant vibrations like roadblocks
Both internal and without
My heart is mended by care and glue
It is placed back inside myself
Where it beats it’s mantra
A song no wounded mind can drown

For some people, enough is never enough constantly trying to grow their piles of stuff
Thinking it shields them, of our world so tough
But really it's the burden to carry so dam much
Stepping over this rubbish, so afraid to touch
Shackled in thoughts with material they clutch holding so tight, their own hearts begin to rust

I drove down memory lane today.

The first house:
The house I lived in as a child.

The smell of the surrounding
woods were earthy and familiar.
It has a distinct smell,
like the years I spent outside
hiding from my life.
It smelled like a place I once lived.
The house, however, was unfamiliar.

The next house:
Chandler's house.

I remembered exactly how to get there.
Every turn,
every pothole to avoid.
They were patched
and the asphalt was old.

I talked to my cousin today
Mostly about heroin
And the miles between us

I still have yet to meet his daughter
I know she will see us someday
Like brothers

Living poetry and singing lyrics
As if we were free
As if we were happy

As if we could love as open and often as these bottles we shared

And I cried today
Like a bullet leaving a gun

Waiting to land

I've been staring in the mirror where the pieces are cracked, waiting on a life that I'll never get back, pulling on my memories desperate for any slack. But no amount of struggle can get me over being so attached, so once again I take a deep breath, & dive into all the black