Posts
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Above the Dirt
I’ve left the round earth behind.
Above her curved back, I wait
to feel my feet again,
to be more than a giant who holds
the sun in his cracked palms.
to be more than a subversive symphony -
To Lorca's Missing Grave, To Franco, To Those Who've Left the American Flag a Bloodless/Bloody Blue and Black
Okay, so I am a bit embarrassed because this is like the fifth ode to Lorca I have posted on here. But sometimes you need obsessions. They are something through which you can channel your passion. -
Curves
There are boulders under my feet, songs with so much shape they can only be felt like they are the curved backs of our galaxy's multitude of suns. -
Nothing but Blue
Is it strange that Mary Oliver reminds me of Hafiz,
especially in the irresponsible dawn hours when I feel
like I could swallow God even before I swallow
my dreams, when the ghosts of swallows still dance -
Open Veins
I sit cross-legged in the raucous silence of the moment,
contorted into a preschool nightmare of tangled thoughts and tangled feet.
There is no freedom in meditation. It’s just a window you can't fit through. -
People Who Read Too Much Have Opinions on Henry Kissinger
people who read too much have opinions on Henry Kissenger
my friends tease me for my long rants on Ceaușescu and Communism and how if it wasn’t for Climate Change Norway’s management of its oil reserves would be Close to Commendable.
Loves
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migration
i, like many poets, have wondered a million times what it would be like to be a bird: soaring high above the trees, unburdened by life's banal worries. something primal and free.
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cutting fruit
the sound of laughter through sun-spotted trees,
i dreamed last night we were fae frolicking
in rings of toadstools, in and out of trees.
fireworks went off in my head as
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on the off-road?
two weeks ago we were stuck in the plains
somewhere in the midwest with no service. you pulled out
some 1999 AAA member's map and said
"crack it open," and i still loved you, even then. words flowed
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Spring
One very nice afternoon I went on a walk through the swampy wet woods to see the very pretty and soothing river flow on my way there I met this very cute and nice rabbit she said her name was Synthia, Synthia had walked with me to the river to wat
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"What dwells in the between?"
I have walked over the bridge
And seen the river that flows,
I have walked through the blue flags
And seen only shadows of frost.
The towering no longer stoop
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drumming thunder
I drum
beating the small snare with my power
I may be small
but I am the loudest in the band
the base is thunder crashing
the snare is the rain slamming to the earth