Digging in
I push and ache always trying to feel through this sack of flesh meeting between being and living I finger …
Category Archives: the gravity of small things
Beneath the fear
There’s a level of fear so basic it doesn’t feel like anything until it’s gone like a mist lifted and …
mango (en español)
*Traducción del poema (en inglés) “mango” Desde el primer bocado el perfume inunda el medio del principio y el fin …
mango
From the first bite perfume floods the middle from beginning to end the sweetness tenses the sides of your tongue …
When the want overwhelms the need
For me I need to get out and walk. I brisk thru the intensity of the feelings I listen patiently …
The way it went
I’ve tried to find shelter in close bondsfriends, lovers, familyonly to findthere’s nothing to be foundin the ignorance of others’ …
Conversations
The opening starts face to faceyou say yoursI say mine yet there is no oneto talk toindependent dimensions meetingtrying to …
other times
everything happened everything passed here I return once again after the kicking and screaming are done the imagining something different …
The pitfall of need
I click in a quiet way the twist and turn the ebb and flow I feel you close even when …
Being alone
Being aloneused to scare meto feel the vast darkpress against my smallnessand snuff out my lightuntil it passedtime and time …
together apart
I feel the distance between you and me all the time my imperfect shores aching for your horizon caught within …
The cost of the Muse
The cost associated with loving deeply is years of training in heartbreak the shivers you get when losing freely like …
Becoming fearless
Speak my fears to the wind may they blow past us you say I attach to this that I enjoy …
The thrill of release
The one thing a horse knows is that nothing is forced because of the way things are true are through …
the insistent
this departing that never arrives I walk alone with only short stops in between the many laughs that accompany me …
fears
the dark edge of the bed screamed muffled in the middle of the night a black glove creeping up against …
touching the edge
I’ve been keeping scraps of paper mental notes of lifelong dialogues working out the daily knots within around the stone …
the sting of the thrill
did you feel the kickback of the quiver between the bow and your fingers when you pulled taut did you …
the weight of need
I’m tired of need with all its holes as soon as you think you’ve fed and filled its hungry huge …
the practice of disuse
it’s becoming long enough I’ve begun to forget what it was I wanted to start with I justify the pauses …
