Run Dry

I knew,
as did you.

Did you?

Now every day I know you less and less...

Spring water spilling over the brim,
runs dry.

That day.

The day the train hit the wall,
dust hangs in the air.

There is no water on this train,
only ever speeding in one direction.

Passengers board,
then leave.

I didn't see your station,
where the water ran dry...

What station am I at now,
in between.

Dry landscape (f)lies past,
beige blur.

The dust fills my lungs,
breathe.

(breathe)
as if you will have never been here.

Dry vision,
golden light. 

Dust settles.

Past the wall,
can I get off now?

and then...gone...it was much ado...

"Your silence most offends me,"
Will and his way with words,
words describing so accurately their lack.

Someday you will not stop talking,
words tumble out of your mouth,
running away, carrying me on a stream of your imagination.

That will be the "you" you,
not this false shell of you,
and you and I will swim in our imagination.

Swept away in the conversation,
that will last until you are no longer "you",
neither am I, "I".

I dive into the vast ocean,
not this dual river,
in conversation with the fishes.

Into the silence,
underwater you will not hear me say,
"Your silence most offends me..."



(Quote curtesy of Mr. Will Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing)

BM.14

The unusual punch of the city fades behind me

I reach forward in hope

with an eye for isolation,

but a need to meld

nature ripples out around me

silent and loud

slowly in the resonant stillness, souls connect

particles of dust become clay

unity holds, one alone and together all

the binding cacophony slips away in such a space as this

the reiteration of my daily trajectory

writ large and now shouted loud by more voices than my own

“Whatever satisfies the soul is truth.”

…is truth…

fingertips stretched wide

touching the horizon

once more into the wind, scattered,

only bound by that which binds us all

in the city and dust

the refrain has followed me…

“That you are here—that life exists, and identity;

That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.”

(quotes courtesy of Walt Whitman)

Moment (First)

exhale escapes

"warm rush of chemicals" 
drip from my fingertips

as I feel the dopamine of you
slowly
fade
out
to the ends of me

Could
and 
Meant
vie for space
in the expanding void
(the twilit droke of my imagination)

drip.
drip.
drip.

"there's no indication of what we were meant to be"
but could we...?

fingers curl
1
2
3
tips/palm

outside pushing inside
stem the flow

it is my open palm
that stops,
it.

and I
connect
to you.

warm rush like wildfire 
floods back in
to the center of me

the only contact
index/palm

drips stop

connection

(a) breath        shared

unfurl

calm

drip.
drip.
drip.

(stop)



- r. poet

-

Friends come and go
loves too
I dance

I dance
though people steal your space on the dance floor
I dance

when the timing is right
and the bass swings, just so
I dance

head down, introspective
hands up, joy reflected
I dance

I dance
on the sidewalk
in the grass
on the pavement 
in the street 

dirty toes
muddy feet

physical changes take place
chemical synaptic metamorphosis

I dance

silliness happens
and realness too

I dance

in all that is impermanent and impermeable 
I dance

Fool's Folly

Love is a fool, 
but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Why should such fancies,
be governed by the mind?

The sum of the heart,
can't be found through a problem of math.
(or purchased online)

Love is a fool, 

but I wouldn't have it any other way.

It's in the element of spark and surprise,

in a flash, there, light and illumination.

The moment of stillness,

between two, on a summer's day.

(at the cusp of night)

Love is a fool, 

but I wouldn't have it any other way.

The fool lives within each of us,
looking for an invitation to court.

My Converse are ready for the party,
these Chucks were made to dance.
(now where is that damn fool?!)