(again)

You got in
(somehow)
under my skin.

Right here,
in the place where I've been
(before)

We were within
the now.

No need for tomorrows.

Just the language that sinks in...
(under the skin)

An indelible tattoo
of words.

A dialogue of one,
meets you
too...
two.

You got in,
under my skin.

Right here,
in the place where I've been.
(before)
(again)

Little Rat

Oh little rat,
so furry and fat,
why are you in my walls?

You skritch-scratch at night.
I hold my bed covers, so tight...
thief of my land of Nod.

Oh little rat,
so furry and fat,
THIS is your chance to leave!

I think you'd much rather,
not be a little rat cadaver,
but spend the night snacking on cheese.

Oh little rat,
so furry and fat,
it really is time to go!

The cat's on his way,
it's not a game you should play,
and tragedy lies at the end.

Oh little rat,
so furry and fat,
the choice is now up to you...

Get caught in a trap,
run away from the cat,
but I'd choose the hole in the wall!

36.00000...

   Gulls pinwheel above me,
   my bike sails smoothly along the sun warmed tarmac.

   Islands hold memories,
   even unfamiliar ones, not yet made.

   The surf is quiet, subdued,
   an outer reflection of what's within.

   Three times a teenager.

   They say the Pacific has no memory,
   but I do...

   Travel blurs the edges of reality rubbed raw,
   smoothed like so many pebbles on the beach.

   The loneliness of intentional solitude,
   a single star among so many.

   Learning to walk backwards...


   They say the Pacific has no memory,
   but I do...

untitled

A return to center,
an invisible mentor,
a guruless wanderer,
disconnected wonderer,
discontented warrior.

Here we are,
bound by boundless space-time
holding hands imaginary,
across a road paved with hope and fear.

Inspiration melts away in the afternoon sun,
radiating prisms of could have been.



~Ehron Asher

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)