I want a big ocean.
One in which I can swim.
With waves and whales.
Wind and water (of course)
2 minutes from me or less.
At walking speed.
Oh, yes..
..with an incredible view
of the stars at night.
The kind that leaves
you healthily breathless.
Lights
lights that turn to stone
instead of me,
a frost-embittered statue
where one teardrop at a time
the cold cocoon can melt away.
the shouting inside ensues
the questions and residual echoes
bouncing, beating in distorted waves
how can you choose
when there’s only one option
how can you lose
when to live means you’ve won
Converse
the shoes, the speak
language morphing into substance
into the stuff of dreams
then back again
into a sort of goo
a type of pliable,
stretchable curiousity
a bit like play-doh
only it won’t dry out if you
forget to put the lid back on
Dreams
Yes, there were killer mannequin robots
Yes, we ran and fell and ran again
And, yes, everyone said it was impossible
But here we are, with all of space and time before us
And after, well, let’s just say it’s bound to be brilliance
rocksteady
if music can start a revolution
I think that’s great
so long as the revolution keeps on spinning,
turning despite opposition
revolving through the dim, the dark, and the lonely
moving to an underneath rhythm,
an aquifer of autonomy,
resilient through time and without
end, containing infinite measure
music without the fear of fear itself,
of change, ebb and flow, in and out
a music of continuity,
of the chaotic grace contained in the ability to love
Circles and Lines
I drew a tree,
the tree grew leaves
A cup of tea,
then came the steam
I drew a vase,
it filled with flowers
Then sketched your face,
and saw you smile
Futures
If my heart was a drum
it would be too quiet to hear
above the cacophony and chaos.
If my heart was a boat
the fast winds would distract me
from the wonders beneath the blue.
But, oh, if my heart was the future
gently pulsing energy through thundery grey
keeping sleepy ships away from see-through rocks
And now I must say a short farewell
to the wind scattering the leaves
beneath my feet,
to the umber sky and vanilla clouds
making wispy, weightless
portraits of you.
No matter how many times
I shut my eyes, then open
I cannot bring you back.
I cannot repair you.
I cannot say your name
And not remember how you lived.
