Volume VII: You Know That I Know

you know that i know 

that what i asked of you 

is not in the cards

in this life or any other

but none of us has been keen enough 

to say as much

as the words sneaked out of my mouth and ink

i saw them as truth

as i always do

and you saw them as an opportunity 

just like so many others

and you passed it on by

leaving those letters hanging on a wire

letting those ideas dissolve into the ether

where the molecules are now polarized

stored in the presence of air

ethers form explosive peroxides

here now i stand and watch them go off

while you sit and stew in alkaline water

the shrapnel may be invisible to the eye

but i can feel it in my skin

and here we are again

right back over 

where we began
 i am anew
and you are still you
skin is still skin
our feet wrapped in sin.

Volume VII: Miss Demeanor

Never before in all my days have I shed so many tears upon leaving a place.   The magic, the entities, the sloping sky.  Months before I had realized that I am meant to live and rest by the sea.  Perhaps by one particular sea.  Perhaps in one particular place.  And then, abiding by a larger wave of motion, I left.  The air was fresh and moist and musical.  Everything was always wet, slick with atmosphere, slipping into the cove one inch at a time.  An extra sense became something beyond extra-sensory.  One could see through the darkness into a very potent reflective light.  Dark became peaceful;  days became light.  The heaviness of spirit that I had experienced for three decades dissolved into a somewhat resigned happiness.   'Twas not resigned in a negative sense; rather, it was the acceptance of an inevitable truth. 

Volume VI: Wayside

i climbed up the south-east side of the hill and the moon was full and bright.  i felt calm, a oneness with the full moon and the metallic clouds and the softly singing night birds as i realized that everyone to whom i had reached out a hand had flown away faster than those very same birds upon hearing a rustling in the bushes.  everyone but the one in hand, the bugs in the air and on my skin, the late-summer wind.  they all ran.  i opened up my home and my heart to them all and they scrambled away as quickly as they could for fear of never living it down.  meanwhile, miles away, there are hundreds of people who love me and shy away in very much the same manner, if only temporarily.  it seems those who have something to lose are the first to go; those who proclaim to have nothing are willing to see this thing through; to take a chance on me.  the original man with nothing to lose still lives and loves that way.  he now has a whole lot to lose but he's not gonna lose any of it because he doesn't let his fear outweigh his passion for adventurous spiritual awakening.  it's not a harmful thing, the spirit; rather, it is the very core of what we feel each day.  give it any name you want and it's still there, convincing you to run or rest or jump off the rocks into the sea, never to breathe again.  i will not ask again, i will not try again, i will not go against, i will not knock on doors i've touched before.  it's easy to tell oneself these things and to believe them. it's difficult to see them through without determination, my middle name.  i have made many mistakes but i am not regretful for most of them.  i do not  like hurting people and helping them is just so much more difficult.  it's a life's work.

if you feel that hurt in your heart and you know you're going against your own deepest will then it's time to turn around.

sit first, and listen to your thoughts without judgement, then slowly stand up, continue to breathe deeply, and take a few steps in the right direction.

i sat on a stone near the sky and remembered my dream.  everyone who's passed me by and continued playing their own game reminds me of the bear on that island.  he's out having fun, splashing around and drawing a crowd.  i'm watching him from a mile away, behind glass, lovingly confined with my own art and life.  he's happy on his own.  one of my sole regrets is that i interrupted his play.  we exist in different dimensions.  i crawl effortlessly between the two but nobody ever crawls back through with me.

except the one in hand, the bugs in the air, the late-summer wind.
they break through.
they are not afraid.

Volume VI: He

he heals and cooks and strums and wails 

and cleans and strokes and leans and licks 

and rolls and taps and drives and feeds 

and sings and mounts and glides and swims 

and rides and climbs and picks and plucks 

and loves and lives and soars and gives

Volume VI: To Everyone Who's Been A Friend

to everyone who's been a friend

i will love you till the end

to anyone who's left in space

nobody can take your place

to all and every smiling face

and tapping toes who keep the pace

to those who love

and live between

the earth is ours

she is our queen

Volume VI: Music Is Love

ideas flow like water.  

they get stopped up sometimes but when they're running it's hard to catch them all no matter how big a bucket you might have.  

two cats on wood planks with their paws crossed.  two birds on wires with their songs sung.  

the pursuit of connection and achievement.   

ideas flood the basement, trickle into the bedrooms, and stain the hardwood floors.  

ideas are love.  communication is art is music is love.  

all extensions of art are the extremities of love.  

addiction to love cannot be cured like tobacco. 

pass the proverbial pipe and fire.

watch the moisture peeling paint and diverting attention from the truth:

the truth is, they don't want me here any more than they want to be here.

"i'll only ask once more if this is what you want.

i'm trying to accept these terms but i don't think that we've learned."

Volume VI: They Come Out When They're Dead