The Rain ...

Day 1: Black clouds, suddenly.

                                                                          Let loose on the tan and dry.

Day 2: Washed the oil off the road.

                                                       And the birds from the sky.

Day 3: Thought it was earlier

                                      morning – in the dim I slept.

Day 4: I saw my mirror's smile

                             fading – like a secret kept.

Day 5: I went for a run; the rain

                       felt warm, by the sun above it.

Day 6: I drank what I'd bottled –
                 clean and pure and cold. “I love it!”

Day 7: I took a shower – that felt so

             stupid, but I did anyway.

Day 8: Had lunch with a friend.

         Our soup was warm, but what more to say?

Day 9: Thought about taking a trip,

         just to see if there was something over cloud.

Day 10: My neighbor's footsteps. To the fridge,

         the couch, the fridge. They're so so loud.

Day 11: Thought of heaven. Missed my
          grandpa for ten hours, off and on.

Day 12: I crossed my hands, in hunger –

            said “Så vi äter bröd i Jesus namn.”

Day 13: Wasn't so hungry. Didn't eat.

              Lay down on the floor. Such mud. All sinking.

Day 14: A thinning, bright cloud. By the time

                       It cracked, I was 

                           in a crowd outside. 

                                                Unblinking.

Shyness ...

What's delicate is             dangerous.

If it can flinch,   has teeth,    holds pain.

Everything, imbalanced—             sad, worried,

Hurt—                        can topple,         startle,      maim.

Look in:                                                  we sing songs of peace, but

                                                            Curse what interrupts our swaying.

We hum sweet words inside,                                                           but then

                                                                We're saying – outside – saying

                                     “That fool doesn't know how to listen right,”

And                    “What an ass, to let his turmoil show at us.”

And seldom 

                    “Here's my example, along your way,”

Or 

                “I too have felt unhelpably furious.”

                                    Everyone with stories 

                                        has a choice to make:

                                            Between small truths 

                                                         and large holes;

         Between               touching what's here 

                                                   and simply being with,

   Or                staring at and falling into nothings 

                                                                – mind, then soul.

                                                         I fell on the trail today, 

                                                            pulled my high-back,

                                            Stood up {scapula!!!}panging; 

                                                  needing to use my voice –

                                                And there was this child 

                                   who did not help me stand up,
              whose eyes were trained on my lips. 

                          So there's this choice: …

Religion ...

(a metaphor, spoken as an observation.)

It does seem true,

    what mama  said:

                        “The dead are never

                                           really dead –

                         like day is never really gone;

                     it sets in our eyes, and somewhere

                 else is dawn.”

It does seem fair,

what daddy claims:

                          “There is a God

                                              who remembers all our names –

                                                                     and sees the wrong

                                                 someone does to us while hiding,

                                                                 and ties it to their name

                                                                   in dark, official writing.”

It does seem right and good

to be together,

singing hymns while

doors     hold out   shear weather:
“Holy holy, ghost,

be in me.”                                                              I think I feel him,

                           like breath.                       A candle flickers dimly.

I wonder sometimes,

whether God really      thinks       our verses

are better than           those in the “false” religions'

songs, that my priest (when he's riled up) curses.

I think                                          “What if God created us all,
                                       and each group sees, like at dawn,

                             their own sky's lessons?”
                                           But I'm always given back  our Faith to hold,

                                              like a knife through 

                                                                   the wings of questions.

An honest memorial service ...

The best die first.

While flakes      never get the chance                         

                                                        to die by you –

     just leave you    r life with                no 

                                                                         forwarding

                                                                                      address;

While haters                 act like                                           

                                                                                            you should die –

                                    until finally 

                                                      you leave them             bereft;

And while moochers         say they would

                                                                                 'die' 

                                                                           without you –

                                                                  so you leave

                                                                    to prove them 

                                                                 wrong;

And while posers were                                                           never really there –

                                                                                          an undefined reality, a 

                                                                                          shadow of another's

                                                                                            song.

Amidst those here-gones,

         biting bugs,

                     Those burglars and trail-cars – 

                                               who you only know

by their brief breezes, 

     or that itching red they leave,

                                                 by your empty shelves or 

                                               your echo's end after they go –

    There are those who stand with you, 

 real and long enough

that you see them still, through that flurried 

          blur from the worst:

because they never 

drop you, 

stick you, 

screw you,

fake you         

          out of their lives … 

  out of view …

The best die first.

Ghost-mouth ...

{Flashback: 2014}

I would

never leave a

bed while you

were twitching.

I love when

you have to ask

if I came by to

kiss you last night.

I think I'll never

lose that sense I'm

just a ghost who got

lucky and, God slipped,

gave me a

body instead of a

sheet. I said, “Thank

you,” but only in my head;
 

in that dark alone space,
where it's safe to be

honest – outside, on my

lips, is just silence. And your forehead.

Animal bites ...

{dog zen by Angela Adan -- Deserving Dogs Rehab & Rescue Santa Barbara!!}

There is no turning away from the animal –

They will chase where you do not control;

they will bite you. There is no

biting back at the animal –

Your fear-sharp shout will

increase their tension;

they will bite you.

There is only to project out at the animal

Your energy; the world that you desire:

If you want to be in control,

believe that first, then show. Show.

Claim beyond your bounds like

a leader does; Calm and

certain, tried and true.

The animal will try to lead you

with their muscle; you have

No muscle (not like theirs)

No fangs (just teeth) no

Fur (just hair), but have

That mind. A mind

That shapes out

Shared energy.

So with their

Fangs, be

Calm, be

True.

Be.