Poetry

I can has poetry. Yes I has. So I post some old ones here...

But what about my life?

yes, what about it?

what passes before it and after it.

just nostalgic for the doors that open.

guitar strings cut sweetly, air and flesh, sweet samsara.

heart strings, cut neatly, pared and fresh, sweet samsara.

i'll never know love, for it is barter. to buy, one must sell.

that niggard son of adam, whose closed fist turned to murder.

i have the right to remain silent! when threatened by hell itself.

and to be shielded from d4mnation by a half-date, and a happy cat

and by the only healing i know of, the first vow of the doctors.

Mountain
Clock-like, that Tap-tapping of Time,
chisels my definition, but
wearies me into sand.

WOuld that viseage be seen and remembered?
the lathing sky turns and drills.



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Salty
Gasped to life by your shard of air,
Breaching up from my wet deep green, I splutter.
I splutter, and you are relieved.
We, made buoyant by shared breath.

I keep rising, tide-pulled by gratitude
to that brightness, gleaming marlinlike, distantly dancing
heroic in your eyes and in mine.