Out of this nightfall
two white trucks nose-to-nose, or
were they always there?
Two young women kiss
and just so, the storm passes…
the laughter and glass.
All my life I dreamed
of glory but I don’t know it
sitting awake.
Raindrops fill a pond
in the parking lot, size of
a lake, to an ant.
The edge of the storm
black, moving fast to the north,
sunlight past the hill.
Ice cream, 2 am
A wheel, broken
but not so you would notice
dazzles travelers
Pullman porter
sits open-handed and still
his eyes, twin spirals
Solitary breath
in the fetid men’s room
stink doctors long gone
A branch’s shadow
wavers at 3 am
over the dead lamp
The politician
says it isn’t either/or
as I hide from the storm
One dead movie star’s
He didn’t shoot me
for looking at him funny
so here I am now
I’ll file my report
the whiskey ran off with my night
leaving splintered sun
That pecking pigeon
could it wander through the doors
of the southbound train?
A flagger, shrouded
in bright orange; excavator
waits for the whistle
And I’m lumped in with
this whole busload, young to old
watching the fall storm
Hoodied, with gnarled hands
The library’s doors
laid flat for their new fall paint
yellow tape guards maw
Read the Tao Te Ching
and mop up cigarette butts
in time, convergence
Ah, but how much time…
suppose I haven’t the strength
to while away Now
Posthumous toilets
wrenched sweatily curbside
on crooked revue
Dark at 1:20
(pm, that is): Straight into
summer-ending storm
Mecca Cafe fries
Rain pools around like the blood of men
Thunder screams like the cry of death
Lightning slashes like a blade on flesh
But the storm rages on, without regret
Thunder, beautiful thunder
I can see the lightning
I can feel the thunder
Feel the thunder rushing through my veins
Thunder, beautiful thunder
You're the most wonderful catastrophe
Thunder, when will you be coming back to me?
Anger is a feeling everyone has and few can surpress
Anger is the reason the world is so violent
Anger is all consuming
Anger is irrational and unintentional
Anger is cleansing but shameless
Anger is the cause of a feeling of numbness that obstructs your ability to acknowledge how hurt others are by your words or actions
Anger is a war that never ends
Anger is brainless and demanding while it lasts, but regretted once it ends
Anger is hard, cold, and lonely
Anger is using your mouth before your brain
Anger is a furious, thunderous storm of feelings you have to endure alone
Anger is life
One didn't have the faintest notion
The slightest hint
Of what was to come.
A few flowers fell at first
Feigning sleep, and hugged the ground.
Looking up, I saw the branches tremble.
What was there to fear?
Then a forlorn little one broke away
And fell – on the soft grass.
Marvelling at the way the treetop swayed,
I chuckled when a small mango hit my shoulder
Too small, to take a bite.
Faintly, I heard the rumble of a distant thunder -
Then dark clouds approached the skies rapidly
Darkening my world, swift, ruthless.
There were flashes in the sky
The harder I gasp
the less I can breathe,
the more I sink in
the more clenched it feels
this source of life put in me,
as if it's right to hurt the way it did.
Will I never learn to not grab the rose by its thorns?
Will I ever just grab the bull by its horns?
May there be a clear sky for those who carry no worries in their hearts,
whilst the storm's ringing in my ears
-a ferocious sound of thunder clashing and lightning smashing-
loud enough only for me to hear;
for me to resist it
with no power left,
letting me fall
down, down.
Where's my safe space when I need it?
Confiding in someone else.
Tag me in.
I want to be help you in the midst of my storm.
Tag me in.
I want to be yours.
Being me is being in your head 24/7,
Being me is having constant debates with life and death..
Being me is not even being here.. Being me, is Being a watcher, a listener an observer..
Being me is loving the storm and the clouds,
Being me is unbashadly thinking out loud..
Being me is an inability to hold a grudge..
Being me is constantly feeling star-struck..
Being me is being an ocean of possibilities,
Being me is being silent in difficulties.. Being me is clearly not that easy.. Being me is an experiment to revive humanity..
Being me is being on trips with the sun and the sea..
Being me is an overdose of curiosity.. Being me is loving so-so deep, that everything I touch begins to heal..
As an old man I met a young girl
who loved the ocean more.
She spoke in rapture,
longed for danger,
and let waves wash away
her heart, exposed;
winter storm along the desolate shore.
Once captured by sea,
she could not shake its spell.
Her fever burned, contagious
down her back, seaweed green
and glistening in the long night rain.
I fell in love with her devotion,
gasping for breath along the coast.
Cold waters, Pacific Northwest,
blue numb skin, struggling