something about music, I guess.

somewhere
(everywhere) there are people
/institutions
that are stacked like books
(like albums)
against me. Some wall,
some intricate puzzle
placed together by the hands of
Adversity

But they don't know me.
they haven't been listening.

they can take those papers
those scores
and burn them the way
I've burned thousands
and thousands
of dollars to get a piece of paper that,
given the opportunity,
would also coil up in flames.

There is nothing fireproof
except for the music that comes
from my lips
my fingertips.

So, no. I am not
stopping.

Sentences.

if you took
all
these words and
took out the
space and
strung them together
it would make
one     complete     sentence.

I like to believe that if we
could take out the space
(the miles) we would
have at least one whole person
but more likely
   two people
complete.

User of tools.

I was raised by
wolves; they taught me every
thing I know:

how to shiver
and how to sing,
how to bark and
make it sting.

They didn't
believe in gods
either.

People

die innocently every
day. People are
killed mercilessly
every day.

And while you send out
your useless prayers, people are
      still
         being
             killed       often at the hands of
your beliefs. These same beliefs
condemn the presence and prominence
of another, more green 'holiday'
which promotes, among other things
peacelovecooperationtogetherness.
Qualities we could all use a taste of. Things
that when our opinions get in the way, we
usually, unintentionally
forget.

Things that, in light of the
terror who dictated that one day,
   (along with every.other.day)
do not deserve or ask for
your misinformation,
  your disapproval,
or your petulance.

Horrors govern us every day,
and so every day they should
be recognized.remembered.
with the goal of eventual
solution.

Today marks the anniversary of
a morning I can hardly recall.

Therefore I choose to spread peace.

it happened

while driving on unfamiliar roads--
sunroof open, reeking havoc
on an early morning just-out-of-bed
hairdo.
Something in the rush over my head sent
a
wave to my chilling fingertips,
colder than the full AC and
slapped onto my face, something i
was not ready for. My teeth gaped through
my dumbfounded lips and my eyes
curled up, happy.

I am okay again.
I am ready for this.
All it took was a road I've
never driven on. Let's explore more of them,
shall we?

Time passes, independent of the omniscience of history's failed invention.

I would clasp my hands and 

whisper into them--
kneel down on my knees, if only I
even       slightly believed.
Since I don't, I will sit, wait
wait and see, just like those
praying beings.

As you whisper to yourself
your mind is your finest shrink. You
know every answer, yet request
instead of think.

"Please grant me the strength," you say
every day of every week, and
when your brain has riddled it through
you'll say you heard Him speak.

claiming baggage

I could have watered those flowers
behind my eyes; if only I were there
to smell them, they would not thirst--presenting
 the same problem as always; peaking
out and contriving (yet) more distance,
stretching time and my patience to limits
that even a God, man-made and hand-baked
to perfection,
could not fathom.

My plane is preparing for landing.
I'm not on it. E v e r y  d a y
     thousands of (my) planes take off
and land.   Without me.
Planes that could stop me
forgetting.  Planes that would tremble and
re-stable and in doing so
remind me how to love and understand.
Planes that, more importantly, mean
proximity on this stubborn,
immobile earth (though she
shakes often for you).

Every roar in every jet engine

is made up of the 

heartbeats of lions and

lovers that I can never listen to.

the mechanized wings that once

carried me instead poke and bully the 

numbing parts of my brain responsible for

rash thoughts and words that sting
and results that burn cold.

I don't have a way to change this. They don't
make erasers for time.

Humans can't fly, and maybe for

good reason; if I knew it
I would take advantage every
single
day.

it turns out

you just can't plan
   these things.
take your hand, cover your eyes.
if you have aim like mine you could
(try to) skip a rock and
     never        ever
                find it.
That's a little bit like this.

uneasy

which is strangely not
the same as hard. Because
difficult is the situaton,
and the title is what lingers.

It's been too long.
I know the cure.

My ears thirst and they are,
thanks to distance,
not easily satisfied. They
do not believe the bush-beating
to which we've grown--
berry-less--accustomed.