Floating

the floating worlds steamrolling endlessly through

the crashing forces
pick me ups

of quotidian life

buzzing alarms and birds speaking in foreign tongues

breakfast on the table,

get the kids to school

faith is a poor bargain in times of desperation and conceit fuels forward
trickling down the sides of walls

stomping footfalls buzzing eardrums echoes off the tree bark

radiowaves transmitting at a constant rate undulating

breeching the surface beaching hatching forgetting

Undulating Wave

Space

I imagine the world opening up into a hole
into itself
into the core

like those drawings of
grids
templates and astrophysics

falling under over beyond

emerging as new life
mother child
struggling for freedom

a sequence unfurling
a repeat a mistake
simple decisions

the boldness and the unrelenting
awash in color
instantaneously lost

bound in ritual
gnawing at the edges
tearing ripping receding

exploding into a past tense
coming up for air
through a vacuum

a space

Polynesian Flower

Memory

We drove down by the waterfront past the small boat harbor where my grandparents kept their sailboat when I was a child. Where once there were empty fields there are now wind turbines generating clean electricity. I think back to those trips on the L'Chaim, the name of my Grandpa's S2 sailboat-- his home away from home. He took such excquisite care of this boat. He cleaned it with a toothbrush. The steering wheel was shiny silver and smooth, and sometimes if he was busy with something-- he would let me steer the boat--a task I accepted with fear and trembling excitement.

Eightfold Path

Leaves

Set foot
deep in the undergrowth
with toes bare and sweat streaming
through the wilderness
and the unknown

banking left for glimpses
a passage of light lingering
ties of ribbons
splintering the fallen leaves
again to the riverbed

the water running through
unstoppable
get back to something primal
trace histories across
the survivors

against my throat
raw scraping
of air being forced through
i can't get enough
to run faster

for this place

Mini Flashlight

The Dawn

Every single grain
leads down the same path
into the networks

and outside the frame

Until one day he slams
against the headboard
behind the shutters

a ghost in the shadows

As a delusion
of pills and spills
with courses racing

the delicate balance

A heart ablaze
the numbed response
the suffering and the saved

vintage