keeping face

a rushing heat sweeps across my feet
a blush in my cheeks
and i'm a fool again
a blushing beat sweeps my cheek
a rush in my heart
and i'm a fool again
try to not to laugh
i know i've lost my face.
try not to look
i know i've lost some sleep.

by the way

there is a way to life.
moving on and on without us
while we do our living
and when we do our dying.
it can move inside us
if we allow the way of life.

if i stop caring,
will i stop living-
or will i just begin?
if i stop interfering
will the way carry me?

the way of give and take
moves along inside us.
while we are beginning
and then while we are dying-
will it carry us?
i just want to be safe.


the way i know is tireless.
until i understand,
i will stop searching.

i could have gone anywhere but i stayed here for you

november was a blur.
i was sad and lost
and you made it so.
i slept in my own tail
and you slept alone
sleep-talking to her-
i wish i could remember
what made me this frail.
leaking out of my lungs.
then i wanted you to go.

in december, you were smoking.
i was sad and lost
when you stopped joking.
i woke up in your second-hand
and you slept alone.
so i talked to him
while i was awake.
i wish i could remember
what destroyed our home
and why i wanted you to go.

january iced over.
i found myself
and begged you not to be lost.
now we both sleep alone.
maybe you still sleep- talk her,
and maybe i still care. so?
i wish i could remember myself.
when i said "go",
you made it so.

blurring. smoking. ending.
i'm still chasing you.
and you say i don't like to travel.

out like a lamb

so here i am.
downward like a dog,
aloof like a cat.
i'll look your way
if you toss me a bone.
it's the only way i can-
quiet and alone.

no rebellious chickens here,
just herbs and teas.
a fox in her den
with a piece of fish,
a cornish hen.
no rebellious qi here-
but nobody can be here.

i tore in like a lion.
bloodied teeth,
jagged claws.
and those cages held me
like a bird-
until i met my strength.
downward like a dog.

it's the only way i can-
because i know who i am.
i'm out.
like a lamb.

always. sometimes. never.

a little too dramatic
self-assured around to centered
and walking walking walking
centered in that circle
a little too problematic
it all spins around, around
and you swear it's you
that's moving
but you're just hanging on
but you are still hanging on
always.

a little too turned around
to turn around just yet
coming through the clouds
stretching yawning waking
awakening in the same bed
a little too cloudy
it all hangs around you
and you swear it's you
that's hanging around
but you're leaving
sometimes.

a little too caught up
to catch up right now
the finish line approaching
and running running running
through the line up to catch up
running instead of sleeping
and you swear it's continuous
but it it isn't
and you swear you're behind
but you aren't yet
never stop running
and you know i won't
never.

blessed and kept

his hand rested on my head
i was tiny and calm
he read me stories before bed
i was seven and sleepy
and he asked the lord
to bless me
and keep me
to shine upon me
like my name means
now i'm sad and scared
and almost thirty, instead
and before bed i'm crying
like i deserve to
and i pray for a hand upon my head
to feel blessed
to feel kept

"The Lord bless you and keep you
The Lord make His face shine on you
and be gracious to you
The Lord turn His face toward you
and give you peace."
Numbers 6: 24-26

lonely city

it's so cold out there.
it's so cold i don't care.
he's gone and forgot his mittens.
he's gone and i let him.
but i blossom with security,
and he thrives on uncertainty
are we finally going to be safe?
are we making another mistake?
the black and white and gray:
an eternal struggle to go or stay.

crashing couches. burning bridges.

you say that this time you don't want to (go). but my heart is telling me that you'll disintegrate if you don't (go). and something else is telling me that you survive on those couches (los angeles, new york) and you thrive on those chances (wandering, returning). but this time this could be different. your reel is spinning, couch to couch and i watch it play out and it watch you buy your tickets and i watch your head shake no you don't want to (go). but you do because i can only give you half of that and i must give you more than a couch. and your thoughts led you into a cage, but it could have been a den (trapped or hibernating?). when you pack you pack your flask and lighter. and i'll sob because i'm no longer a fighter (for your lungs and liver). though i was, i retreated because you felt that sword along your back and those needles in your ears and it made you heavy. like this bridge we built so that we could (go). anywhere. but i came here and you came along and that cold made you less strong. bridges of love letters. came down word by word and you've got that lighter just in case and that flask just in case it goes the other way and you watched me let it all (go). and you let it all (go). where you're understood and warm.

troubled

with no soft place to lay your head
with your bag and shoes in tow instead
without the comfort of our unmade bed
you are troubled
again

but now you know your father
and now you know your purpose
but now you know i'm troubled
again

you're hoping for a landing pad
hoping for what you should've had
hoping for sanity in world gone mad
(because it's not you who is)

because it's not you who's unsure
because it's only what you choose
again and again

searching for understanding
from me
searching for that safe landing
from me
searching for solid standing
from me
and you know i tried
again
and you know i cried
again
(because it's not you who did)

nine needles in a tomb

in the golden age
made of stone
on a deathbed stage
made your home
roll away the stone
like jesus
roll away the mystery
before us
we were always meant to find you.
earth to metal to flesh.

in the ancient dark
shrouded in dust
indifferent to time
saved your stories
reveal tricks of wisdom
like confucius
reveal secrets of dynasties
enlighten us
we will ever know your conduits.
tunnels to channels.

thousands of elusive years
the gift of the emperor to us
the gift we'll never hold
nine small tools.

"Sharpened stones known as Bian shi have been found in China, suggesting the practice of acupuncture may date to the Stone Age... during the Han Dynasty stone and bone needles were replaced with metal. The earliest examples of stone [and metal] needles were found in a tomb dated to c. 113 BC"

The Great Seas: Qi Sea

before you start,
close your eyes and breathe.
in through your nose
then
out of your mouth
in until you can no more
then
out until you can no more
twelve times.

now you are ready.

what moves us?
take your fingers three places
into the tender spaces
of heat and blood
deep.
feel the beating.
the pulse of your life.
the blood does not move herself.
she does not move you or me.
all life is moved by Qi.

what feeds us?
lift your hands to your mouth
into that tunnel
of tongue and teeth and breath
dark.
taste the vitality.
earth and leaves and rain.
grain and water sustain partially,
only in containers of Qi.


what awakens us?
open your eyes to the light
into that small blade
of sun
across your sheets
soft.
know the awakening in your bones.
the consciousness of your life
moves dreams to reality.
all we know is formed by Qi.

What are we but vessels in the seas?

The Great Seas: The Sea of Marrow

who do you think you are?
we are nobody.
we survived bloodied downpours
and starved our way through famine.
how much closer does that get us?
we are nowhere.
the real journey is on the horizon
so don't think yourself accomplished.

what do you think matters?
those grey and white matters.
they build you up
compose your soul
remind you of your wholeness
when you're feeling scattered
so don't think yourself lost.

who occupies our throne?
the seat is empty.
we are stoic and perverse
and our memories have shattered
in hurricanes of unconsciousness
we are everywhere.
the truth lies away from vices
so don't think yourself strong.

what can bind our bones and brains?
something soft and strong
beyond our own minefields
into the sea of great grey
into the wind of great breath
we hold tight to memories-
and one another.
so you can find yourself sane again.

The Great Seas: The Sea of Water and Grain

eat.
open up your mouth and your soul and eat.
because what is food?
fuel? happiness? nourishment?
choose it now and be full.
fill you up?

no, i cannot fill you up.
and now, after digestion, i know.
i could never sow the grain
i could never break the dam.
yes, that's a damn shame.

the water.
she is still with out a force.
and so i am.
will you swim?
float? drown?
choose your way.
no, i can never be your boat.
it used to be a shame.
now it's just our ride
on the tide
and here comes high tide.
and then the low.

go to the big barn,
there is grain there.
go to the river,
there is fresh water there.

i'll be there before you,
wet or dry,
empty or full.

The Great Seas: The Sea of Blood

from the deepest caves it flows
within and up and down and over: fills us
to stay alive and pumping and flushed
the mother of life: carries us
our babies, our dreams, our disease
we, just vessels in the storm
floating: she moves us
riding waves of red in the dark
ebbing and flowing
thriving or dying, we ride
until it flows out
onto sheets and floors
deathbeds and streets
where it cannot be contained
by her warmth or spirit
from the harsh winds
to weary lungs and noses
from the hands of death
to the cool touch of
small fingers
that have lost their grasp.
to the dry and empty wombs
that have lost their heart
collapse: until the next circulation

i am a road

and you've happened to wander by.
lost enough to come along this way-
a wild and barely beaten path
a winding and graveled pass so far away
from where you've been
in such a long while
and the barricades still sit
before me
but somewhere along me
hidden among the perils
there is a safe place
and maybe that's why you've wandered by.

and you've brought your dynamite.
enough to level off these bumps
and some concrete to finish me off
for a smoother, safer journey
so much more civilized than i've been
before and after you
but somewhere beyond me
there is a home
and maybe that's why you've wandered by.

monkey bay

traveler by the bay,
you're so far away.
in the bush
in the heat
in the future
remember today.
and when you go
remember the goats
the orphans
and the gods
they love you.
remember that they do.
hold that ring of bone
hold onto your home
both are in your hands.
remember where you came from.
the crocodiles
the camels
the monkeys
they fool you
but remember
their hiding places.
but remember
the other places,
and your heart there
beside the bay
softly hold your stay.

addict

smoking affairs drinking gambling
labels for vices
just once.
justify.
just because.
a drag a kiss a shot a dollar
risks in their own right.
relatively
wrong or right
drugs of choice.
when the void is too deep
you can always run
but you'll always run alone.

returning

the sun was so bright
and so was i
the air was so light
and so was i
and i didn't know the road ahead
and i didn't know you would be there
at the beginning and the end of it
i was fifteen and i loved you
i was reckless and i lost you
i was twenty seven and i knew you
i was scared and i pushed you
but the sun returns and asks
if i would do it again
yes and again
and again just for that first touch
and for the last one
to give you the meaning of my name
that is bright
that is shining
that is clear
but not obvious.
would you go back
to the ocean
with me?
winding to redwoods and caves
finding green stones
and closing our jaded eyes
to stop looking
for just a breath
or two
remember
i'll go anywhere
with you.

faith

once in a while the quiet comes in like a grandmother. soft and wise. what is that feeling of solitude? exactly? nearly a happiness. something more profound. something reminiscent of a steepled country church. where silence meets something like a prayer, but it's the smell of the wooden floors and the musty bible pages that evoke those tears not the stories inside. remember though, it's just like that dusty church. but where that quiet nestles in is somewhere else. across different days, during the same times of the seasons. tucked into a cup of coffee or inside an undulating candle flame. above the twinkling skyline. riding salty waves somewhere i've never been. but i know it. and just in that last breath, the quiet slips away again. hunched and fragile and tired. what's left? nearly a loneliness. someplace i vowed i'd never be found. and the things that race inside that space where that quiet was so briefly tucked away; they are deafening. but in that expanse of noise is hint of what who i knew i was and who i might become. and it could only be heard in comparison to that elderly quietness. in that gap i can hear everything and nothing together, and i believe in it. and i believe that i can exist in that harmony of noise and calm. and maybe i won't be there alone. call it naivety. i call it beauty. what is faith?

home. work.

the hissing and spitting radiators remind me that i won't be sleeping much tonight. the sounds of unsettling heat are just that and there's just a little snow left on the sidewalks outside. tonight some are not hissing and spitting. the cats, anyway. they are curled up inside their own rattling radiators because they are settled. they aren't settling. just settled. and i'm breathing out of my mouth to try to do the same sort of settling. i've put my books down for a while. i've been in them so much i feel like i must smell like a library by now. but they are such good company that i hesitate setting them aside before i take a hot and spitting shower. in the shower i wonder if i could ever really be loved. i decide that maybe if i could breathe more easily i could be. i don't want to eat dinner because i feel fat after seeing myself in the shower and i'm still not sure if i'm lovable. some could. the cats, anyway. they remind me by playing with the curls in my hair. cozying up to me to get their dinner, assuredly. i feel alright about it though because it's not that i mind being manipulated in return for some affection. which i need more than dinner at any given time. don't worry- i'm not starving. just hungry. so i put the huge stack of books into my small lap and swim back into the pages of ancient wisdom hoping for that kind of simplicity. the kind of simplicity that hugs you before you fall asleep and whispers secrets into your ear that mean more than love, commitment, sex, or freedom. Secrets of decocting teas and breathing. that's all i have to do. it's time for bed and the radiators are finally quiet.