talibut

they have got you now
dead and in the center
you know nothing but
you have to pretend and
hold on tighter to your
lame sense of yes and the
reality of no. no you do not
belong here and no one is
waiting because you are
spent and you are thinned
and boring are the words that
spill like wine from the glass
onto the white

october

this is what it really means
when you get to where you wanted
by being pulled from the inside
because out is just a cover and
what comes is really just the rest
of what you never expected to happen
when you walked miles in dirty shoes
with broken laces and a dreamer's spirit
and the notion that you knew everything

Anaïs Nin

"Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death."
circa 1932

2.5.08

there is something so lovely about this rainy day, the bright pink of the cherry blossoms amongst the bare trees and gray skies

mouse

the air was sweet that night as i followed you home
trying to keep the pace i followed silently
holding hands but barely touching i let you lead me
to the place where you hide your secrets and all that
you really are when you stop the universe for a moment
and make paper airplanes that can actually take us
somewhere far enough to only hear nothing and keep
the tiny bits that still mean something because we get
so tangled and sometimes we just want to wake up
in the same exact place where we started

san francisco

the sun won the tug of war today
deep blue is the celebration that adorns
the clearest of all skies
one of those days so beautiful
that i am forced to just take it all in
and let the fog lift away from me
the bay shines with the brilliance of
one million kaleidoscopes and
the sailboats balance expertly
on the tiniest of waves, they
sway so gently and i sort of feel
that little dance inside of me
as i sit, warm and calm
and the rays soak me i
observe a group of school girls
excitedly grasping their cameras
in awe of the perfection of this place
my home, my city
as i sit and i soak
lucky, lucky
my pockets are empty
and i doubt everything
but in this moment
lucky

There is more to be gained from uncertainty.

two buck chuck

what a dirty soul
that pathetic old man
always so full of
all those things
that leave us empty-
gasping for air
we rub at the
smudges, so
many blind eyes
they turn away
but his words,
his desolation
tug at the
core (he made it
so familiar)
amidst the grime
and all the sin
he moved us
we felt him

"sullen girl"

who said that you cannot be
at once the elephant and also
the mouse?

the biggest and the most small
quite impossibly i find myself
here and almost a little bit
over there
all complete; but also cavernous
like a sigh, a doubt
the wall that fell

the fish & the sea

sometimes we sink even further as
we take big steps to move forward
leaps that create these distances
that shrink the faith and pose
questions of purpose, of truth

we floated too far this time
only to be swept away and
stained with the permanence of
mediocrity and the thin shell
of substance and proof

maybe we lost the point
and the sting it burns but
this comfort keeps me warm
and it's not so bad really
everything really does shrink
when seen from so far away