Thursday, June 2, 2016




Do you know how much sage I need
to cleanse this place? How much smoke
needs to travel the north wind upward
to adequately say this prayer?

I never seem to have the right words.
I can never just walk away.  I can’t accept
this world and its ever weeping wound.

I’ll let my fingers burn first.
I won’t let go of this last leaf.


Despair is the demon you create then

throw your last precious black stones at to defeat;

rat poison in iodine masquerading as black whiskey

it swallows you whole saying all will be undone;

take comfort in that, in hungering no more.

>>> SALT<<<

If I just focus hard enough,
my mind will melt that gun in your purse.

I’ll flush away the crack that flips the switch
just waiting to tie an old family knot in your brain.

I’ve tapped a hundred trees in this forest
searching for the sap that will heal your wound.

In my dreams I roll all your burdens into the mud like a laboring dungbeetle 
and push them over a cliff into the wide arms of the ocean below. 

It catches our tears.
Its salt envelops.

I have no other answers.
I have no cure.

>>>> LIGHT<<<<

In the old tales, there’s always a journey to
be made, a key to find, a secret trial to pass
in order to heal the unhealable fracture.

Because a fracture is not
one of these things you say
will just work itself out.

So unless you leave your bomb shelter—
stagger out into the blinding yellow light
and embrace the pressure threatening

to collapse your veins—this whirlwind
will never pick you up, never set you down
bruised but with your pit-dark hunger arrested.

The old stories never lie.
There is a way.
Anything can

Magic holds
your hand.

>>>>> BREATH<<<<<

If this is all there is—what
more do we have to say?

If the stardust we’re made of
is nothing but cold fire, cold dirt

then where does this warm breath
come from that turns snow into spring?

Why do we tremble when the sun rises over
the mountains and our hearts ache for home?

No comments:

Post a Comment