a half-truth and a cookie

and, I 'm fucking tired of being quiet and keeping the piece of me silent that shouts against the sky
and mouth open ingests the horizon
as it laps against the penumbra, the word that I learned from William, that's in my pda
and I cannot bring it to mind

but I eat the blue hour, the essential hour before silence
and the joy of living is in the silence of expressing more than words with our voices
and using this thing that burns into our flesh for something more than pain
and yes, this world
is pain
and grief
hollowed our hearts that sit in half-shamed silence
dark streaks against the boom-boom of your voice
as I hear
how little I am
how little I have
how little I have become in accepting myself
and pushing the hot poker to the piece of me that remains unseen I forfeit
my heart in search of my soul

against the sky what else is there besides the winds
and the sharp talons of hooked beaked hawks
dust and light filter across the field kicked up by city folks driving subarus on farm roads
and the dust settles over the crops and into my boots, hair, nose all full
and I am more allergic to my mother than anything else

I find this deeply disturbing http://www.swisslink.com/ and yet I could probably shop there for years satisfied

don't stop before you're done

because really, what are we all here for any ways
to sit on our hands as life gold
drips from concrete veins
and we lace our form across the wires of the vineyard

I am terrified to run in between the rows
the wires are traps
not easily escaped

sometimes I run down them on purpose
to feel the terror of self-entrapment
and listen to my heart

Subjective Harmony

Link: unbreakable

going dark

Within the week I will pull this string of ones and zeros off the internet. Someday, maybe, some of this will be put into a book made of paper and glue.

motorbike fightnight

those are the only two words in my head these days
not that I have a penchant for speed
or an uncanny inability to feel pain

because

sometimes air and wind and fingers gripped around bars
are all we have to hold onto

and

holding my head in my arms and eyes to the night
I can breathe against the drumming of my ears
the lights pulse through my spine
and the rumble of the turf
against the pale of my legs

Fruitful Harvest

sow seeds of contentment
that our harvest may be
plentiful

 as we reap our dreams