My poetry reading in my dream interrupted by this rude guy I continue to threaten and increase my aggression. He is curious and mocking, karmatically.
I jump out the window into another coffee shop. The MLK memorial celebration, hurricane postponed. Dr. Pepper tastes better. Trash Heap Earth. Throw it all into the open space. The snotgreen wonders.
veggie burger Mexican food excursion
day trip
your way through
little girl tai chi movements
fling out the story
dream the way
Dreamt my mom and grandmother dug up two grandfathers—regular and great. I ran from the backyard into the house, looking for my missing cats. Where the FUCK have the cats gone? No one would answer. And my grandfathers were walking around. Messed up family.
The go with the flow vibe of morning state, this prayer, vibratory rise, light up. I rise up before the sun and crush the crust out of my eyes. Life is really light and to be free and to explore art, to help people. Begin, this day. I have to look past some annoyances and see them as blessings in disguise.
“When you eliminate fear and attachment, when you self-liberate, you attain the golden age.”
morning bell
early sun
all dressed up
a vat
a rat
a cat
a smattering of mags
the magazine loaded
into gun
harm at the end of hand
shorthand
short walk blessing quiet
settled stillness
a day ahead
things to look forward to
be thankful for
memories to release
yourself from
we say of her chances
slim
that she is
locked in
all we can do is hope
batter a human today?
people are immediate branches
not separate
in trouble
words are garbled
I often watch people clumsily stumble
but he says to me
“what is this shame on your face?”
I don’t know, I’ll get back to you
Poem as prayer
thought poem
store bought poem
the best practice for me
I realize that my connection to Terra
is seamless shamanism coming through
first way of the world
rocks create a hard place
Kalika sleeps next to me for hours
I try not to wake her
and pet her when she
seems to be having a bad dream
make sure she does not slide off
with love I never slide off
all over experience we
try to communicate our needs
and lash out if we don’t feel
they are met
there are all types of brats
young boys start learning how
to look at girls
we don’t need any help
with that
poems don’t come as natural
for all young boys
I drink coffee—
interim
life is
being free, creating art
sorry if you can’t handle
if we lose sight of that
become consumed by stress
then what?
I go from writing gargantuan paragraphs
back to the beloved broken line
vine
gabbing
thinking of old friends
birthing new ones
swing around…
rooting into earth
wouldn’t it be
nice to buy a house here?
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