White Sky, Dark Stars

There is a curtain of black

and a well of doubt

as a body, dressed in white,

walks near

and fills it with water

to rot out the chains

the empty’s mind

once and for all,

free at last,

for gold rained from Heaven

for all

and to all–

Where is love?

but down in the valley

where mountains erupt

and beasts flock the vacant skies

and grassy lands

covered with green ivy

and emerald stones

wrapped in single splots

of every eye

for every eye

to see

a coat of white fabric

which left me there

covered in the bluest leaves

stolen from every person’s

ocean and sky

and I am not lost

but a wandering soul

who has found what was lost

in shadow and light

to very last gallow

a free man’s delight

is but peace of mind

and the rest

is paradise.

 

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Three Locks, One Key

Cotton was found in your eyes

and there was a tale

untold from time

ticking down to a lazy dime

falling down into a rumble,

I was caught off guard

walking down an alley

covered in bricks

of all colors

from all walks of life–

A glass held me there

shining a light

like jazz

so somber

I almost thought it was gold–

Then a dove appeared

and flew away–

Someone was here before,

I could feel it

I could sense it

and as I looked down into a puddle

a silver meadow of red poppies

appeared

and I’ll never forget what you said

because it was secret,

like every untold truth

from the sky.

Learning to Smile

You found me here

I am in this perfect chaos

a mind maze

in which I intend to leave

one in which a butterfly

emerged

and caught me off guard–

I open my arms

to feel what I think

is a warm wind

the best kind

on a star-shining day

when all thoughts

are erased

and a spotless blank

is consuming us

and we call it meditation

we call it sleeping

we call it escape

but really

the blankness

is a newborn hope

blooming

between the feet

of our stumps.

White Washed Walls

What is this

that I trust my soul

to be carried in a hand

covered by a cloud

of the unknowing

but knowingly–my heart

has an eye

and I can see again

I can see the currents

passing underneath

deep and blue

blue and deep

never had there been

such deep waters,

As I smile

with a golden tear

like an eggshell

cracking

and rolling down my face–

Oh, to see oneself

for the first time

to see the glimmering

depths of stars

bright and silver

exploding and magnifying

like lava–

Oh, the precious stars

the billions and trillions

of lights

all underneath the water

hanging like seaweed

as I am rolled

for the first time

and there,

like a seashell

for the first time

I found symmetry

a pattern

for what–I am truly alive

and grateful

that I had slept so long

in the slumbers

and chambers

of the heart’s unknowing

abyss–

A secret cloud finds me there

for the first time

and for the last time

I am caught restless

yet still

for a feeling has it–

I am believing

I am relentless

I am unselfish

I am loving

I am by no name

I am the living dead

smiling

with good pain

for the very first time.

Eyedust

Desert of my dreams

a perfect flatness

on the horizon

where moon and sun

kiss into a midday twilight,

an ivory silk follows–

I remember seeing it

and holding its pattern

in my mind,

the dryness

an arctic bloom

filled with orange canyons,

and sand

white sand

the luscious sand we sleep on,

a resolute–

Where cacti rise

to the sun’s slumber

like red lanterns

with sketches of animals

on the outside,

they are filled

with flames

like strange myths

like ancient dragons–

And the isolated,

the fireflies

take over

the darkness

like darkness was never there

and never will be

again.

 

Feel Alive

There is a magnitude

a rushing water

where every heartbeat

is left unturned–

A flock of snowing flowers

find us there

quivering

in the cold shutters

of every hand

which was never desolate

to find rocks

reaching

upon every ground,

our ground,

the unsolid gaze

which never chanced

anyone–

To rob oneself

of daylight

is forbidden

and the mystery

knows it

for it never hid

its face from your walls–

And until every stone

a memory

a thought

a pointless hour

to waste,

until every last stone

falls

and remains,

you will never release

control.

I, Me, Alone

Let me tell you about the people

who lived here before

you

they did not suffer the way you did

their stories were not as interesting

they did not have dire circumstances

they never faced hardships

they had never lost

anyone they loved

they never weeped

they never married

they never loved

they never been loved

they never died

they never died alone

they never regretted anything

they have no lessons for you

for they were never human

like you

they never opened their eyes

they never rose up

to the morning light

lost and confused about who they were

and where they were going

in fact, no one in your current world

suffers the way you do

or experiences life the way you do–

you are the pinnacle of all pain

your story is by far sadder

by far happier

than any story on the planet

no, the universe

because the universe is really

that small

and maybe everyone is far more interesting

and you live a boring existence

staring into a window of dreams

in the palm of your hand

your beautiful hand

so intricately made with every line

with purpose, yet with vacancy–

empty are the hands of humanity

for they lift nothing

point to nothing

and lay bare by our sides–

you use that empty hand

in the quiet of the black-star night

to pick up a book

a journal or memoir of one’s past

a life fitting into a two hundred page binding

the same way your life

could be bound

to summarize “you” in two hundred pages,

and as you read the first sentences

you hear the muffling sounds

of arctic foxes

laughing and chasing each other,

perhaps you hear

some people parking their cars

and carrying groceries into their houses

and you realize

you may not be alone after all.