there was a night
one thousand lives ago
when our hearts
together birthed
the inspiration of a star
in some distant galaxy
we did not know

look up now
into the sky
to find the light
that's travelled
all this time
to deliver itself
from darkness

a cosmic
message in a bottle
on a night
in this life
when we forgot
that kind of love
and the power of our light

Scribbled on a Sunday coffee break

you are my presque vu
on the tip of my tongue
behind my eyelids
a beat in the heart
a memory I remember I have
but not a memory I can recall

and we are divided hemispheres
in this reality
the strangers who know
they belong to the whole
without perception
or conception
of how it should fit

to eclipse
requiring the synchronicity
of choice
to choose the in-tandem
of the difficult path
that leads to reintegration

when it is easier
to remain the stranger
and under the illusion
the perception
is whole on its own

without adding the depth
of seeing
the dimension
of the left
in conjunction
with right

I have no words
for what we have been
it is you who carry those
but I have the dreams

the altruistic necessity
to want for your best
in however you journey to vision

and the trust
each drop of water
is united again
when it returns to the sea

Surrealist Perspective

Something I wrote this morning, but didn't post, because nothing I write is heard with the love and gentleness my heart intends...and I thought this would be the same. But...Synchronicities...

I said
    I need you
you said
    you're needy
but the thing about the darkness is
you can never tell
who comes as shadow
or as blessing
so I must have loved you
because I risked to never
draw the lines
of the borders of your light
or chart where the darkness
fell inside the complicated territories
of your heart

I said
    speak to me
you said
    I owe you nothing
and you were right
but then you gave me bread crumbs
to watch me scramble
for what could never fill me up
when I was the girl who crossed deserts
without a drop of my own sweat
to even quench my thirst
so I must have loved you
to need what it was
I didn't really need

I said
    don't fear me
but you heard
    don't trust me
as though it was doublespeak
and in return you invited me
to decipher your cryptographs
never bothering to explain
which were written

in poisoned ink
and when I got those wrong

you said I never loved myself
and when I got them right
you said I didn't love you
when I was only tired
and wanting something straight

I said
    I'm laughing now
you heard
    I'm laughing now at you
but it was me
and then just as always
everything I ever said
never got to be about the heart
or what came from my tongue
but only just your ears
so that if you thought my need
was need
or my love
something serving
for itself
you were never ready to be loved
but not because I didn't love
both you and me

there's a difference between attention
and connection
I could drain this well to dry
but you're not going to drink
some lovers like the sound of water
others take the taste
into themselves
and let it grow

if my heart is spilled now
on the sand
it was your hands
that did not cup
the love I came to give

I am draining to a spring
evaporating into rain
after I crossed deserts
in the cold and burning dark
and I will cross one million more
just for the glimpse of stars
and how they shine

I say
    I love you
    don't be afraid
you say
nothing
but do you ever hear

hear me
here
please hear some heart
some day
somewhere

I bet you love
like a refugee
preferring intimacy
to trust

and I'm
a territory
conquered out of lust
and violated by every
hungry hand
that ever picked a fruit
to watch it rot
before it reached a mouth
then withered into dust

bombed out
and poisoned
and turned to civil war
against myself
until all that lays
buried in this flesh
are ghosts of ideologies
and the politicians
and guerrillas I used to be
and some lines of ink
the poets that were me
scrawled in red
against the whites
to map these tired
and bloodshot eyes

so that when you come to me
I'll have nothing left to fight
a state without a border
or a flag
nor a tree left standing
to give you fruit
and you will have to dig
deep into my earth
to find the roots
if you are needing to be fed
and listen to my eyes to hear
the anthems of the dead

until you can confess
that you're a poet too
taking sacrament
by the graffiti you tattoo
into these crumbling walls
with the only truths
that carried
too much weight
to have been abandoned
on the road

and you can paint me
as a whore
in caricature reds and blues
so we are both
beneath the mask
of nothing to repent
where our peace is made
with greys and ashes too

and from the foundation
that once was garrison
empty and splintered
ammo crates await
to be your home
something you can take
when you decide to go
or something that might hold
the things you leave behind

but if your train
will rust awhile
and you will stop
in the territory
that's left of me
let it be
where the treaty
of the sadness and the joy
was never signed
but branded on the tongue
and you can love
however the stateless heart
must love
a land that lost its name

where stories and stars
and dog eared cards
and the little
I have left to give
are treasures
that bring you songs to dance
consulting constellations
over constitutions
to tell how long you'll land
and how long I'll let you stay
with forever
only a wish
away
for us who cannot see
beyond today
with survival valued
just as much as hope

no more conscription
no duties to declare
of social trust
with this
the earth
bombed and levelled
once by lust

only a place to lay your head
and find forgotten dreams
in the way you colour me
with whatever we want to be
in the intimacy
of this anarchy
between the refuge
and the refugee

some of us
greet the dawn
from the backside of the day
homesick for the stars
we got calibrated
to just turn out that way
so let us meet
to sing the sky awake
with backwards lullabies
to bring the light
into to the sky
not in the 9-5
between domestic prisons
of four walls
that chain us to the floor
but out the open door
and somewhere beyond
the just beyond
where time is of no matter
from the backside of the day
we who dance in darkness
because it is our fate
we forever reaching
toward the growing light
walking in reverse
of fading with the night
the wormhole ancient chorus
the homeless cosmic tribe
us orphans of the stars
who rest when sun returns
then fill the yearning
to belong
where dreams ignite
to burn

I name today
forgiveness day
there must have been
some kind of hurt
to make you see me
in that way
and nothing ever healed
by what we take away
except the hurt
except misunderstanding
forgiveness
for the giving
even if it ain't our debt to pay
but then I also owed you too
in ways I can't set straight
and I'll always be
a galaxy away
a stranger
because you wanted it like that
but I'm the skin
and then the centre
of the universe of me
maybe too far
for any astronaut to reach
but a sun that burns
at the apex
of everything that's me
and you are like that too
but still so much forgetting
the light was never lost
by what we give away
so I wish you do discover
eclipses you can see
without ever going blind
and for you I give
the only thing
you might ever take away
and name this sunrise to the dusk
for your forgiveness day

surreal life

my birth canal
was a rabbit hole
I fell a long way down
sometimes I'm too big
sometimes too small
but never quite the size
of where I ought to be
so I skipped class
to read the deeper books
and stole hours from the day
to chase down canvas dressed in paint
for the medicine it made
and sometimes I look out
into the world
like Jodo or Marquez
hijacked the train of thought
inside my head
and the surreal is all
that's really real
perspective is the strangest thing
because sometimes
the things that I see clearly
don't see me in return
and yet there are creations
who salsa in between
the then and then the future
to reach the shifting now
to touch down for a moment
the inspiration on the head
it was the garden that told me
you have to know
when you are dead
before you germinate
to rise again
and evolution is for the dying
as much as for the growth
and the flower sees the underneath
but often not the height
unless it's looking down
and all of us are just like that
sometimes too big
sometimes too small
and nothing has a point at all
least of all these words
but size is quite irrelevant
to any kind of light
when it's made up its mind
to lose all of perspective
and only just
to shine

resilience is more useful
than the being optimistic
I got concussed
from the hierarchy
of love
when I want it
anarchistic
and complex
and beyond my understanding

but in the wide open
of the spaces
someone always
has to bring the pen
to write the propaganda in

and I am just the kind
who needs to find
my balance
in destabilizing
the something always said
about the faults of me
when the first step to being free
is emancipating
from the concept
of naming or being named
with shame

this is an evolution
so fuck the system
of the rules
to tell you what you gotta do
when we only gotta shine
to illuminate the path
to find our better way

not plugging in
to shame today
for the hope that fate
might be my benefactor
like positivity
over clarity
is some kind of currency
I can trade

and you're gonna get concussed
if you don't stand in line
waiting to receive
what was taken
to begin
but I got anarchy within
and a wicked tuck n roll

this world that spirals around me
I'm bigger on the inside
folding and unfolding
in universes
the eyes can't see
in dreams
and in journeys
that transcend the borders
of flesh
the definitions of mind
bringing eclipses
of spirits of the sky
and ancestors
emerging from the heart
and the only sense
is that no sense
is the clarity of all
from every fall
and hit the ground
this rising to transcend
the heights I knew before
breaking
to break free
and be more than
what has been confined
within the mind
and the illusions of the world
bigger on the inside
than comprehension
can perceive
and somewhere deep inside
a galaxy of free
spiralling in me

I wanted their warmth
on the top of my head
like sunshine pushing
through the clouds

your forever broken hands
fractured by the rules
and the ruler
of the rule of the come-to-colonize

your forever broken hands
that grew like trees
always facing toward the ground
always prepared
to fall

forever broken hands
with fingers that could only clasp
around fishing poles
and garage sale ten speed bikes
and tits
and bottles of Black Label Beer
and bibles
and keys for spam
but never me
never grasp the concept
of what a daughter was

your forever broken hands
that pointed a crooked path
to my forever broken heart

I followed those hands
to the shattered places
you left behind
and pried them open wide
lost myself inside
along the forever broken path

and found my medicine
weeping out

it makes no sense
to this world
but it makes all the sense
to this connected soul
to want to join you
in the cave of Filippov
to free ourselves
to free the world
or seek our wisdom
as mute and painted dolls
of grand Marceau
with some kind of
agnostic psychomagic voodoo
like Bowie caked in white
and breaking glass
to prove we do not bleed

I don't need a lover
I've got nothing left to ask
of anyone
including me
I only want to share a breath
with one who understands
the thoughts my heart
can dream
and how she keeps me
wide awake for days
swimming in obscurities
of the fluid world
beyond the rigid walls
of tomorrow and yesterday
in the cabaret of intellect
of whores
for the lack of shame
these thoughts could care to have
and apologies that wouldn't matter anyhow

I can light my way
but for a moment
just be unrepentant by my side
for the feel to be
a band of thieves
stealing back our dreams
to feed the starved out
and alone
we who feast
the bread from corpses
because we've got the strength
to know
there is no sin
so you don't need
to feast from me
and I won't feast from you

we'll just transmute
to grow
stitching our wounds with poetry
and offering healing
disguised as show

this between us
was birthed in the darkness
so what could ever take this shine
the indomitable of love
found in alone
the resilience of harmony in this song
burst between the notes of silence
like seedlings burst through the portals
of their sidewalk cracks

time
it takes time
for some things to grow
and more yet to bloom
but there is nothing delicate here
to wither with the passing of the days

these roots have reached
through darkness
to touch
the centre of the earth

crawl inside the window
of my mind
some trickster
Peter Pan
my heart is growing old
to know
that love won't come tomorrow
or any other day
so share a little magic
of how to opiate
with the joy and with the now
where evolution isn't found
in wishes or in echoes
but only in today
I'm tired of growing tired
I want to wake inside a dream
where everything stays lucid
once the reference point
is found
and youth comes in the shedding
to reach the baby skin
and the fountain of the cleansing
that washes off the pain
is an ocean made of drops
of every internal connection
we have obtained
and to fly we only close our eyes
and focus on the light
and rise to heaven
with the stardust of forgetting 

to remember

and the joy of now

I am envious of the universe
that has so many fingers
to forever touch
the alchemy of you
and the sun and moon and stars
who watch you shine
and the earth and sky
who hold you between them both
mother
father
joyous child

but sometimes I walk
in the still-warm footprints
of your light
and dream myself a dream
the universe is having now
and remember in the cosmic psyche
who I was dreamed to be

these fingers are blistered
and calloused
reaching with sign language
that can't be heard
for what can never be touched
when what wants to be soft
must defend itself
in the battles of miscommunication

I have so little left to say
these hands of mine
making shadow puppets
in the dark
when darkness tells its story too
and shadows show
there must be light

if I could love you
then there must have always been
a part of me that held
those things too
but in the juxtaposition
you see what isn't there
instead of what there is

the shadows tell a story too
they tell there must be light
if you could look beyond
what is cast against
the armour of your wall

my medicine has never been
the bringing of the dark
but the stories one can make
of the resilience of the light

stories only understood
in the context of the glow
haloed in the outline
seeping from the blackened shapes
stories understood not only
by the unafraid
but the ones who do not hide

I am not the dark
but darkness always comes
and all the spirit can ever do
is trust in its own light
and the stories it can tell

darkness tells a story too
of tomorrows shadowed
by what we never face
or monuments painted
to stands against our fear
to leave yesterday behind
and risk the future
of kissed again by light

The Stain on the Livingroom Lamp

when I was a kid
there was always Indian blood
on the shade of our lamp
something about a nail and a board
and the redneck neighbours
from the apartment below
who let me watch soaps
when I was sick

I never forgave my mother
for trading my dreams
of an elegant foreign father
for friends who never were
but I made my own intimacy
with the stain
of the Punjabi man
I would never meet
but knew like a Rorschach
for seven years

because the Indian father I never had
left me a message
in the code of his blood
and so I always knew
I'd rather be the evidence
of a beating for the difference
of who I was
than the lost chance of love
for acceptance that never comes 

Notes on a dream scrawled on a sleepless night

your sacred revolver
I found it in my hands

you who are not
a violent man

you who honour the ancestors
with your mother's name

the trickster who placed it there
with the medicine that knows
a gun is only holy
when it can be
and yet is never used

and I wanted to
but I didn't have to
so I never gave it back to you

because all the power
and the answers are in me
and you were joyous just to watch
how I could discover this
for myself

and because you were
I did

with your sacred revolver
in my hands
kinda like a sacred trust

you trusting to trust me
because I did not give it up
nor use it to replace the power
of what I already was

me trusting you
because you didn't ask

I want to know why
but I'm too tired to ask
for answers that never come
when the stories I tell myself
never seem to shut up

I am scared when bitterness
does not emerge
that this is no great state of evolution
but only the growing comfort
I've found with disappointment

I want to turn back the clock
but I don't belong to time
and somewhere in the ghost realms
something else has slipped
over through the other side

and I am learning now

that dreams can only 

live their lives
in the shadows of the light
when I have closed my eyes

find me the ancient spell
that makes a husband of a man
who can love a crone

the one who holds
the alchemy to understand
now is not the time
for florals and polka-dots
but for nipples that have suckled
the future generations
and bellies that conceal
their wombs stretched out by love
naked and dancing
beneath the moon

find me the one who knows
there is dangerous and vulgar magic

between the lips
and between the hips
of a woman far past
the visual of her long dead
fuckability

because my vanities and sanities
and apologies
are all drowned
in oceans of where I couldn't belong
but had to learn to swim

and now I've found my solid ground
these roots run deep deep down
though still the girl can weep
the memory of saltwater
for hours or for days

but the woman can also laugh
her magic too
just as manic as the wind
and wide awake for days
just to be in love
with what it is to be alive

find me the man
with nothing left
to teach the girl
and I will be his crone
and student
and inspiration
and in the dark
his maiden who forgets
that younger women are mostly made
of the modest and the shy

it should not take a woman
so many years to be full grown
and so many sacrifices
of the suppleness and glow
to stand before a mirror
and see her beauty
between the sagging lines

but I will cast a spell
to find the looking glass
that sees the secrets that I see
and I will name him Eight
then tell him back the secret
he maybe does not know
that the power in a prophet
is to understand the truth
of what it is to love
and not to claim or conquer
the flesh of woman
nor the earth

From the day before today

your smile breaks sunsets
into golden dawns
spilling mana
and honey afire
from the rupture
of the promise
of a new day to be born

the rapture of how one heart
can inspire another
to the forced and rusty
mechanical breath
of one inhalation
after another
when to breathe
is more effort
than to not

and the automaton
that has been sleeping
wakes to grind her gears
inside the prison
of the clockwork tower
where she has been the centre
of the working parts so long
to free herself of dark machines
means to wear away her teeth
and then to fall

and how many centuries
does it take for the earth
to reclaim her
to cover her with moss
and let the ripe of flowers
grow up through the ribs
of the steel that forged her bones

how many centuries
until she can give you stems
yearning toward your light
only just to bloom

who says machines don't bleed
when amputation is the only way
that they are freed
and tears are oxidizing glue
that make each movement
too arthritic for the the dance

but when the sun shines
she remembers
this was never where she fit
inside the shadow of the clockwork
of a life of trapped
between the cogs and gears

and somewhere she wonders
if maybe she has a heart
when the music of the sun she hears
does not fall upon the ears
but melts her from the grooves
of where she's been fighting
to extract herself a century's time
or more

and soon the clock will strike the hour
then never strike no more
and the automaton
who dreamed herself a butterfly
will be something in a garden
inviting birds
and breathing without the need
to count the breath
unhinging the fusing of her bones
just to dance
in the honey of the sweet
of the dawning of the sun

thoughts from yesterday...

you come to me as the wind
that holds the wings
of the albatross aloft
the music of spirit
the stars have sang with light

but you are also of the earth
the immaculate temple
of the sacred geometry
of molecules that could dream
no better dream
than to manifest themselves
as you--
you the warm and beating earth
and home to celestial being

and all I have sent to dance
was my voice
when earth should be held
between the hands
and honoured with the soft footprints
of a journey toward a journey
and the warm and beating heart
should be touched with
the naked glory
of nothing left to hide

and for my hunger
to reach into the soil of you
I pulled this stone up
from the ocean floor
to pretend it holds the music
that comes only on the wind
just to have a fragment
of some imaginary land
to convince me
that I can reach the shore

and every day I'm drowning
with the weight of its illusion

for you
for the love of spirit
and of soil
today I let go of this idea
of an idea of you
I placed inside
the burden of mirage
and if you would see me
sacrifice this idol
you would think maybe
it is you
I have just let go

when I have only learned
that to swim across an ocean
one must have faith enough
to surrendered the weight 

of a fragment of earth
to reach the earth

and I am forever swimming
to reach that shore

flailing to find a refuge
in my mind
some place where thoughts
are safe to think
some corner
of light and calm...

would you know how often
I find you waiting there
and that I am no longer
in my head at all
but safely in my heart

Chocolate Chip Anarchy: I Owe No One Pretty

women around the world
are dying for emancipation
and Facebook is trying to sell me
leggings to compress my ass
like asses are public property
we've been charged with the sacred duty
of keeping manicured
for the aesthetic pleasure
of whoever wants to view

fuck you public aesthetic ass voyeurs
sometimes anarchy and rebellion mean
it's time to eat another cookie

climb down from the shelf
of the subconscious of my mind
an archetype Pierrot
remind me that to be this way
is to know
the difference between the neon
and the stars
and that scars are the consequence
of surrendering the placenta
of glasses tinted all in rose
to step into the truth
of this reality
and that joy is best achieved
in the authentic of really seeing
because anarchy of the heart
is the only cure
to put this nihilism
in its place
and that to wear the painted face
is only the disguise
to keep safe what is too much
to take so much
of this disjointed world
when the price we pay
for the art we make
is to fall through the existential plummet
of the propaganda fail
and the only hope
for love to be what love
is meant to be
is to bring the laughter
to the places
that have often made us cry
and innocence is not so rooted
in the luxury of ignorance after all
but gets it's chance to bloom
in illumination that's reached
in hunger for the truth
where clarity of reality
in the exfoliation of fantasy
is all a part
of how the alchemist
crafts the dream

sometimes I dream you
like rain
falling on my tongue
sprinkled in salvation
sporadic and random
in patterns of chaos
that calm the mind on fire
and blossom the shrinking heart
that withered in its parched
like the taste of cactus
or the the swim
in the river beneath the river
where these secret thoughts
are quenched
and I am here bathing
silently
only in the idea of you
drinking the words
falling from the heavens
of your mouth
without the time to question
what is or isn't real
because even mirage is inspiration
to step closer to oasis
when it's the sacred
that gets us by

let me send this whisper
my voice is hoarse
but let it soften its wings
upon the wind
let it carry what words
are never enough to say
and like a ray of sunshine
who can say which it was
that gathered with the rest
to turn the light to warmth
but let this whisper
humbly flutter in
among all the beautiful
of today
to add its voice
to the music of your heart

the most important moment
isn't the moment
but the moment before the moment

when the bud has opened
its tender mouth
with vulnerability
either to be stung by frost
or kissed by light
before it can fully meet the world

and the thirst that is quenched
depends on what drops
escape between the fingers
and what remain in hand
to make it to the tongue

with fate delegating
every moment
the moment before the moment

and fear choosing

the moments that we let die

and so all that each of us can do
is open our mouths
with faith
and take our blinded chance

time forgets me
it leaves me behind
so that I am in this dimension
that only looks like here
and all that is really real
is all that is not
and what of me
there is to see or know
is a hologram
projected on the screen
of this reality
and love is not a verb
that holds physical space
but only the light I gather
to dream
and what light I can flower
from inside the bud of dream
with hopes the illusion of perfume
will sometimes inspire
the illusion of beautiful here
and let something lost
but eternal in the limbo
hold my name for just a breath
in the way that time forgets me
but still the inspiration
of the light of love
sustains the beating and the evolution
of the phantom of my heart

For Richard (the words that came after the breath)

this is not your end
this is only your dot...dot...dot...
the way you taught me
never to terminate the thoughts
with a stop
for playing elusive
and hiding just beyond
the other side

and from you I also learned
all you need is one more try
than every time that you fall down
and that trauma when it catches you
is only the white space
when connection is momentarily paused

but what tells the story
is what we write
in the in between
and look at the story you painted
in life
and in words
inside your in between

and now you are out there
swimming in that cosmic stream
ready to share your gifts
with all who take the breath
and then dive in
to find a story
that they can touch and share

somewhere in that ancient river
I know the generations
will find you there...

I can't count the days
because they are more
than I have even lived
that the distant light
has been all that I see
to believe
there is something more
than this
that somewhere in this world
that disjointed me from its bones
there are places still to fit
warmly in the warmth of flesh
and that this reality
is only an illusion
imprinted on the skin
as a brand
but not the truth of the spirit
within
and I am sorry
for the darkness I have offered
because I am lost and cold
and that is where darkness likes to go
to find its fit
when all these days
of too many to ever count
I have thirsted for the sun
even in the times that I have dug
the holes
to burry myself from all the world
and the ones when echoes reverberated
like ricochets
that wound the heart again
there are so many days my dreams awake
to watch the light arise
then find the light within

sometimes the peacemaker
is only the composite
of internal wars
they absorb
from the world around them
the cage of their bones
buffer zones
for all the demons
they swallow to appease the calm
and what looks like weakness
is more strength
than anyone ever sees
and the only way to be free
is to uncontain the chaos
and let the casualties be
and the wounds inflict themselves
on everything
that is dear to the heart
because the peacemaker
learns to take responsibility
for what the wager of war does
when there's no other way
to stop the destruction
than swallow its bombs
to keep the innocent safe

come and dance with me
my light is tired
remind me that the best music
has always come
from the exhausted and the hungry
who know it is all the world
will give
and all we really have to give
remind me that victory belongs
to the passionate
and empowered
not the ones who wield oppression
in the shade of shames
they cannot face
share the Tarantas the gods
have taught you
to keep you strong
on the days the notes have been
the only food
to feed a famished soul
awaken me from the numb of sleeping
to see my light is not so comatose
at all
and it is only my eyes
that carry the exhaustion
of malnourishment of the heart
and that dancing is the truest way
the light of the heart
may be revived

wherever your feet
fall when you dream
wherever your gaze lands
when you close your eyes
whatever you seek
when you lay to rest

if I could be there too
it would be as the dew
that softens the earth
to record the sacredness
of your memories
in its skin

I would be the flecks that glisten
on the wings of butterflies
virgin again to the light
and the scent of the mouths
of flowers
opening to welcome them softly
with serenades
of the sweetest nectars
perspired in desire
just to touch the soles of feet
that leave the ground

I would come as the rays of sun
that warm you
and also the comfort
of the shade
that lets you choose
the balance where balance lies
and the grass
and the rivers
and the songs of birds
so that every step
in every direction
and every stop to rest
would answer only beauty

because all we ever really seek
is the answer to ourselves

I am starving
for the taste of your lips

thirsting to drink
your breath

I warm myself
with the dream
of your hands

I come alive
with the sound of your voice
inside my heart

somewhere
butterflies and birds
are opening their wings
and preparing for flight

somewhere that can't be seen
but still is dreamed

I lay against
the not yet thawing earth
and give thanks
for the hunger and cold
that has taught me
to know
the depth of beauty
to be revered

Creation is my god
but your heart
a sacred altar

I dream to bless this life
with the reverence
of from the earth
and to the earth
celebrating
the spirits
who somewhere
have opened their wings

to feel the rivers of life
flow beneath your skin tonight
to remember to be alive
is the gift so we can love
your heartbeat to drown
the chaos and the noise
and all the silent screams
when capsules of tears
get swallowed
like cyanide
I don't want a place to hide
but only a safe place to dance
to the music of your breath
not to forget
but only just to rest
and celebrate
what illusions cannot conquer
and tell you you are a beautiful
until I remember
that I am too
when all the moments
of every dimension
and every time
every smile
and every cry
have contributed their share
to the miracle
that somewhere in the world
there is a light
the darkness cannot blind
against my eyes
and when the dark
has made me tired
still I can close my eyes
and somewhere safe
I touch that light

it smells too clean here
take me to a home
somewhere where the earth
wears the scent
of my grandmothers' placentas

and wayward dogs
and yowling cats
are showering in exhaust

and love made out of nothing
fries over open fires

where music is perfume
with the musk of hibiscus
swelling in its loins

and the sun bakes stories
from the culverts
with the whispers of
the subterranean secrets
of the fermenting underground

and histories chatter
in the bare feet
of the boys who dance
with balls worn to the rough
like their future hearts
driven forever toward
their glory

let me smell the garbage
and love it too
as the sacrifice of sustenance
and memory

give me mangoes
and red earth

and sweat that glistens
beneath the stars

and oceans
that spray the sidewalk
with the temptation
of the adventures that it holds

let my heart not be so sanitized
as this world that carries
the void of poetry
in the lack of its cologne

the courage for affinity
the heart for anarchy
where seeing is beauty
in alternate realities

if dreams are more than dreams
your path will cross mine there
somewhere east or west
north or south
where we have carried our regions
of joy
across borders
smuggled in our songs

the contraband of unlegislated love
traded in the dark parque
where music brings the light
of interconnection
that is meant
for the human to be human

and streets and continents
and oceans have been crossed
on passports that bear the stamps
of personal emancipation
from the re-evolution
of the natural state
by muses that dance
as much to love
as for the sake
of being loved

you and I
we know the truth
of the irony
in waiting on the system
to yield our share
of anarchy
when everything is all
self serve
even if they hide it
from our plates
because it's up to us to take
and up to us to make
our joy
and of course it isn't fair
that gluttony leaves
only skin and bones
the greedy still pick bare
but sometimes the only protest
we have left to give our fight
is the way we dance with our own light
and the laughter we won't surrender
from our hearts
to outsmart their every move
with a way to live our lives
as ours
and the fearlessness in the rebellion
of the anarchy
in how we love

we're not the enemies
of the state...
the state of natural being
don't colonize
our minds
with your lines of status quo
if you are quoting
from artificial power
cause now is time to listen
to the power in our hearts
where our ancestors are playing songs
so our descendants
will one day dance
to something more
than this white noise
of this unreality TV nation
because your alternative reality
does not matter
it holds no matter here
in this world of from the earth
and to the earth
infused with all the stars
where dictators don't dictate the scars
only just the wounds that are inflicted
and our anarchy
is in the way we heal
again for generation after generation
and the reality is
it's coded in our DNA
to be the patriots
of the state...
the natural state of being

I did not choose
the earth that was there
to greet me
as I exited the womb
nor the bullets nor the blood
nor the drought
nor the poison nor the walls

I did not choose the shadows
that met me with the introduction
of the light

the only dream I carried
with me to this world
was to have the room
for this heart
to just be free
to beat

maybe there's a difference
between knowing the depth of reality
and opting not to play
and being weaned from the womb
straight onto whatever
makes you numb

like wearing sun glasses
in the middle of the night
doesn't hide the dark
nor make you forget
to bring your light

the way injecting glossy mags
and neon signs
keep some from ever waking up
to learn the truth of dark
and that we are here to shine

Crone's Dance

she shook her ass
no less than seven times
and with every flick of her hips
she created a star
her pelvis intoning inflections
birthing gyrating galaxies
hungry to be filled
with planetary forces
and the insatiation
of gravitational charge
all of this in the dark
to hide the truth
that she was not so sexless
as she had claimed
but a woman
who perspired worlds
between her thighs
invisible on the other side
where she folded quantumly
and disappeared
in the black hole
of their eyes

This woke me up from the first fifteen minutes of kinda deep sleep I got last night. Heard it and wrote it. For whatever reason.  And forgot it until I found it in my phone notes just now.

I cross the desert
without knowing
if you are on the other side
without knowing
if I hold enough years
to barter for miles
for the dream of a quicksilver sun
dancing always from one horizon
toward the next

I wet my lips
with the thought of you
keep my skin from cracking
with the dressings
of your illumination
when you are made of silver
and silk
and I have become too much
this sand
and would not know how
to touch and cup you
if ever I reached oasis
where dream bubbles from the ground
to be tasted on the tongue

while my left hand
is Hamsa
its dexterity only for dream
inside of dream
my right is rough and blistered
from guiding too hard
with these reins
and it can only be the journey
for the journey's sake
without an end to reach
thirsting with the dream
of a destination that comes to seek
the one who seeks to find
to deliver its quicksilver love
as water in a cup 

sometimes we forget
this place is a place of forgetting
too
because we are wanting
to remember
and we think that it's enough

and then when the movement starts
we don't always recognize
the rip has come
to carry us
too far out to sea
or if we do we fight
without the strength to overcome
and drown

sometimes remembering
means exiting out the side
of the path of most momentum
to wait for the natural movement
of the moon
to guide us back to shore