And Again, Tomorrow

If rain were desire
and my mind the clouds
I could feed the rivers, streaming,
and if the trees and grass were need, they would not be wanting

if my mouth lay still as the sidewalks and smooth ground does, we would all be drowned
But you, dry and warm,
could not know the weight of it all.
You, neatly hidden, 
could not know the rain.

Turn

Autumn was a feeling that we just couldn't shake

Autumn was a leaf holding on too tight,

And fading with the green surrounding

What it needed couldn't be seen

What it wanted was to not need

So it fell away with the will of time,

and with it so did we.

How perfect we could be:
Loveless and free.

Honey

Soft eyes in the morning
Heavy arms resting still
Your grey hairs and smile: honest
Stirring as the day unfurled

Now the mornings ache
and the nights they moan
Too bright, then too dark
Two empty spaces, blank and then cold

The leaves are turning back into dirt
With them my heart falls still
Footprints and memories
Less than an echo, you're an empty space to be filled.

Only

Sinking with the sun
Fading with the sky
Filling with stillness
Turning with the shadows
Breathing in the electric lights
Pressing against these sidewalks
Wishing for fewer steps
and more rain.

Worries and Wishes

Come set your tangled head down
Let my hands cover your wanderin' eyes
Come lay down beside me
Lets not say goodbye

Tomorrow could be better
Tomorrow could be the same
Tonight let go of your sorrows
and I will let go of my shame

Come here darlin'
Please come my way
I'll shake the cold out of your clothes
If you could make up your mind to stay

It's time to stop your worrying
and time for me to stop wishing too
The night can be such a long time
Like the worst movie to sit through

I know there isn't a good ending here
No matter how we hold on
When two hearts have always been broken
There is no way to be but gone

Come set your tangled head down
Let my hands cover your wonderin' eyes
Come lay beside me
and lets not say our goodbyes.

102

Light flashing yellow, orange, then red
Shining through leaves changing,
Against a green wall unmoving,
Into eyes softly shifting

Dust between boards
Paced back and forth across
Shedding what was lost
What was not known, so not forgot

Eyes fading from blue to brown,
Eyes fading from brown to honey,
From honey to green
Haunted by a place somewhere in between

Thoughts caught in the cracks
With hands clasped to nothing
How many have sunk into this room, still spinning?
How many will leave this room, still aching?

All the time it takes for a night to pass
And a lifetime grows as the day comes down

Strangeness in Reflections

I am not sure what to think of myself anymore. Today I opened up my portfolio, full of the past and my life as an artist. Or rather, the time when I thought of myself as this. I suppose I still do think of myself as this, at least when I am feeling wishful. I haven't created something that reflected back at me for nearly 4 years. It seems everything I have made as of late have been silly things that I don't take seriously and thus remain continuous and I unfulfilled.

I wonder if it is just me that has resulted in this out come, or if many of my peers have ended up the same. I think of the people I respected as artists and I can't tell if they are the same as I or if they are still trying. My whole human life before art school was filled with forming my identity as an artist, and in my life after art school I have become fearful of being so. Maybe it was how I broke into pieces, maybe I just lost that piece when I was reassembling myself. Maybe I am just so scared of falling back into those pieces. When I think back on me making anything all I can recall is that gnawing feeling at the pit of my heart, that feeling that turns roaring as you work on something. It's that need to get what is inside of you out so you can see it more clearly, but that thing inside of you just gets caught somewhere at the back of your throat, just tickling the beginnings of your tongue, just stuck there. I have never completed a single piece, I have always stopped right before its end. Everything I have made is just suspended in time by fear. Most of who I am is the same.

I still feel the need to make, to turn myself inside out. Maybe that is what an artist is. I really don't know. I know a part of me has died, or maybe is just sleeping. I know that without that part I can't be certain of what is real and what isn't. I know I am more alone because of this part being dormant. I know that I am in no way less of myself because of it, but I am often mistaken in thinking this is not me at all.

When I boiled it all down to nothing the same damn pot was on my stove.

Collecting Losses

Suddenly you are walking away and your head turns to glance at me over your unfamiliar shoulder
Hands reaching to grasp another, far too far to reach
Words falling short of 4 ears, breathing in nothing, saying nothing
a feeling deep at the pit of my stomach, tearing everything up
Making thoughts so close only hours before in another damn galaxy
Untouchable as you are, what else can I do?
Desperately grasping, nothing nothing nothing.
You are not anyone else, you are you, you are not going to do what they did
To me you have to be different, but those fears, these fears, they are all the same as before.
Suddenly you are walking away, but how could you be walking away when you were never really walking toward me?
My arms and hands too heavy to even lift a needle and thread
Empty promises, empty notebooks, empty lines
I asked myself why, and thought "because you let me"
My mouth kept forming a word that my ears feared to hear,
Every time, tears, but the best kind
Reminding, reminding this is just me.

A Future Memory

Inside a dusky twilight
Dug into/between fraying mountain silhouette
Resting on a faded grey sky
Soon a new night will fall down around you
Wrapped in the heavy scent of wetted pine, you lay
the ground holding your head calm,
fulled up with uncertainty,
your eyes blink heavy.
"It has gone" she whispers,
It has gone, you know.

"I’m a slow mover
I’m the best laid plans
And alone at the end of the day,
I just sit with my head in my hands"

with love wrapped around my head like a crown of clover

the air is cool as it sifts between our houses
soft shadows and flashes of light move along the length of my body and cross my face
Spring whispers in my ear that yes, yes, something is new again
but what it is i don't know.
my skin is alive and my breath is light
a strange hope never hoped before softens my eyes and mouth
freshly green leaves are shaking above the cars that pass like waves
my mind is evaporating into clouds drifting, drifting past
i am reaching out to grasp something that can not be caught,
and so i find myself weightless along with it
my heart is made of dust
everything has taken root except for me
everything is growing into something else
and i am just here to see it and love it and look up, up, up, and then past.

this

inside of this quiet world of wordless thought
i am certain i am the only thing left awake
but the walls creak and they ache as i rest
against the clouds and the air, the night is gliding by
above trees waving, shifting, swaying with their leaves
shining behind the clouds a star spins and disappears
orion leans against a roof and i smile
how blue the dark sky appears against glowing leaves
the wind is a voice as it whispers through these
a police siren moans, the night breaks completely, a phone rings
through a window, a voice speaks "i lay down on the floor..."
a car door opens but i can't hear it close
my blanket hangs loosely and the lamp light pierces it
i stand with my shadow on the wall, which reminds me
the only certainty left is
this is this is this is

i might have drowned but i held my breath and kicked my feet and moved my arms around.

there are days when i am quite certain that my heart is going to fall right out.

lately, days have been going by without me noticing a thing. i lay in bed at night and try to recall a beautiful thing that happened but only the mundane and the usual, the steady tides and the setting suns reveal themselves to me. i can't even remember a beautiful thing that i saw this week, or the past 14 days, or perhaps more. if there is nothing to recall then there is nothing to learn from, nothing to gain, nothing to ramble on about. not so long ago i believed it was only passion and ruination that could inspire me to evolve, but this mediocrity fuels me more than anything else ever has. the more quiet my life becomes the more effort i put into building my escape-boat. the destination it will bring me to is still unknown but the drifting between there and here is the only beautiful thing i desire to see.

can hope ever be separated from fear and doubt?

loer & lower

still and resting tirelessly within the armor her heart has wrought bitterlie
bound and taunted continuall to and by the sea
watching the stars fall and extinguish gentle amongst the waues through which he wades
hidden as she waited for another, adamant, a mistake of groning ghost for loe was made
for whatsoever from one place doth fall is with the tide unto another brought
is there nothing lost that may be found if sought?

without want, with need

i can hear thunder and see lightening spasming through the sky... but where is the rain? there are warm and cool gusts laced between the branches which clutch the swollen and pulsating clouds. down here the ground is dry and exhausted. i am laying in the sand staring up with my mouth gaping. everything is stirring about me, lifting, twirling, aching, surging. i fear it will all pass too soon and i will not taste a single drop. or has it already come to pass?

if it falls upon them

there is an inability to speak honestly that has covered my mouth and eyes and hands. this dishonest veil is being lifted slowly and carefully, for though it has been unwanted and frustrating, its fragile dejected state must be respected and cared for tenderly. if it were to be removed too quickly or violently, its fragments could not explain the purpose it served for so long.

as i lay in undisturbed solitude i find my body is rupturing in anticipation of something inconceivable and unreachable while my mind is lucid and still. i look to the future for clarity and direction but can't see past the low and lofty clouds. no matter how infrequently i call upon it, the past can still visit and fill me like a match being lit. the only difference in its illuminations are their ability to be extinguished in a simple breath. what i have now is surrounding me at this moment. it is all right here and i can see it and taste it, however foul or sweet, i have it to know now, not later or prior to, it is it is and it is. i am returning home very soon, changed only slightly, still baring the same foolish heart. i barely recognize my own reflection at times but it is not because i am so different, it is myself that i can see now for the first time.

there are still words building up in my chest and i have no where else to put them but on the stale summer air. they are lost and surreal in the pulsating heat, but i know you are still finding them when you want to, and this does bring the same foolish smile and waves through my soul. i savour and cherish these moments as i would upon watching a stag and a doe contrasting against white white snow.