For a Friend.

Across the universe you lie sleeping now;
The representation of freedom and prosperity,
A human definition within the long lived,
Well enforced dictionary of pride-
Of love and loyalty,
Of ultimate sacrifice.

Many nights I have seen you there,
In the midst of darkness breathing steady in iron lungs,
Breeding confusion and muddled hate-
That by its simple nature renders fate as useless weaponry.

You are the protector, the pillar of strength,
Constitution and amendment,
Encased in living flesh.

For a fleeting season,
You have carried a sword for your country, this country, our country-
Bellowing the fighter's creed, strong and true,
In the ears of a world that threatens to destroy our own.

Honor lives within your bones, my friend-
Perseverance is the fortitude of your spine, dear patriot,
And my life goes with you.
Not because of the life which you have chosen,
But because for a lifetime and more,
You have been all of this to me.

That's All

Over the course of the last several weeks, sleep has been hard to come by. I've spent a lot of time trying to understand the insomnia... get to the heart of the dilemma. By all accounts, it has occurred to me that the only reason for the mind to remain awake, is to simply keep thinking. For some people, that means turning over the events of the day- for many others, it is to grind down the negative aspects of one's life- the past and present of it all; to keep chewing on a fatty piece of meat, rather than just spit it out. All of these elements are true for me- but there's a more prevalent driving factor than just that...I am often detaching from people, places and things, but have not overcome the grief that accompanies the act. I am, and always have been, a thinker- and I can't change that. But that is nothing new.

Consequently, I had, until only a few minutes ago, resigned to believing that I have been plagued by sleeplessness because of my need for answers. My inquisitive nature had escaped my grasp and wrangled in the best of me. But somehow, I have discovered a much more simplified answer to more questions than I have bothered to raise...

What I'm really waiting up for-
is snow.

In essence, people are sentimental creatures. We attach our best memories to smells, to sounds- sights and individual items; a natural safety net. The list varies for me, and on it are common items; my favorite songs, important places in my life, apple pie, Christmas trees, forests, my mother's perfume, the smell of cocoa butter, the smell of fire- all of which make me intensely happy- but perhaps the most instant serotonin release is snow. There is such an encyclopedia of incredible memories attached to snow- some from childhood, some from high school, others dealing with those I have loved, with only myself... in other words; snow symbolizes joy in my life. It represents, if nothing else, a small piece of everything I am grateful for and everyone I hold in my heart.

The radar says the system should be arriving over Williamsburg before sunrise.

Four to five inches. :)

I am a Rock

A poem that came to me this evening; dealing with a great many things... (yes, I was listening to Paul Simon when I wrote this.)


Months ago I was twisted, mangled root wrenching through soil,
Working towards the river beneath your buildings, far buried within the sights of a naked eye;
This life I chase, she ever darts from me,
Sinking, diving, swelling- averting the eyes
Of he who may lower his lips to drink...
(Forgive me, I have begun to speak of other things.)
(Or do I speak of you, dear friend?)

Days ago I whirled in circles, broken years beneath my feet, memories wailing,
Caught in the whims of a glass tornado,
Slicing deep no matter how carefully they ride the wind-
Or how lightly I dance about the fringes of sorrow.
In one breath, the shards are glowing ivory coals again;
Scorching the tender layers of that which beats relentlessly-
And I am reminded of how accustomed I have become,
To stitches and bandages.

Moments ago my arms were locked with those of Time,
Persistent ticking eating at my scars,
Slamming in to my skull like a rain storm of hammers;
Pounding, crushing, slowly collapsing my will to keep the sea bottled away-
To keep from the waves that beckon me to worlds far from mine...
(I want to believe that time is of no substance- that the love of friends such as we,
is eternal.)
(But in a year, I fear we will be strangers.)

Despite all this,
Love does always bellow out her pipes within me;
She coddles my remains, no matter how charred my bones may be-
Now, and then- and ever,
She is my choice to carry...
As all that tortures me,
Was never my choice to keep.

It will never be my choice to lie down,
And lose the fight.

The Eleventh Year

There is no way I have found to explain your nature,
As I am inclined to believe,
That you are a cut above all that is natural-
Even if you are unaware of it yourself.
(Have you walked on water?
Perhaps you should try.)

My perception of you is detailed,
So great that often times I question your existence-
Not your physical body, which has always been comfortable and real to me,
Like a dear friend, an old accomplice-
My favorite road ripe with turning leaves,
Where I ride on horse back to think and yet be thoughtless,
Like the spot in the river where I once lay for hours,
Listening to the water's opera;
(I remember the very bar of music in which I met you,
Should you ever be inclined to sit there and listen with me someday.)
No none of these things.
But the honey colored glow that has become your definition,
Since I fell in love,
And was given permission to embrace your soul...
Now that does leave me bewildered,
And never lacking curiosity.




For Tristan.

On the Subject of Life

Shocking to imagine that people let their lives speed by them, when all I have ever wanted was for life to slow down enough for me to blink and the moment still be had... but you know, in retrospect, at least so far, I wouldn't have it any other way. Yes, this way involves a lot of broken bones, a lot of high speed wrecks if you will- but I get to experience slow motion then, in the flipping and bending of metal- and isn't that precisely what I was asking for?

Apart from high speed wrecks, there are nudges. Seeing someone's face in a crowd, when they so obviously are not there- certainly a nudge, perhaps more than that. Hearing a tune that carries itself not through your ears but directly in to your heart- a specific image forming in your mind like a memory you had previously left unturned. Perhaps more than a nudge... maybe in my case, there are no nudges, only shoves. Punches in the face. Or gut. (Life definitely gets my attention when she wants it.)

Here's what I am chewing on; Is it because I am dense, or because I feel so deeply? At times, I am lost in wonder- are the two one and the same? Being dense can leave you blind- and often feeling deeply makes you numb. The body dislikes existing in some form of unbalance. Yet I thrive in either the Yin or the Yang- but never, ever in the middle.

Then here comes this one- Where does love lie in this messy equation? Does it pay rent like the rest of us, or is it truly some ivory tower of an emotion that few are blessed by? I am inclined to say that love lives in neither- and is far beyond our simple human comprehension... far more of a god like trait that somehow trickled down to us than the word we casually joust with. Is true love more present in daily sacrifices to the common stranger than it is present in married couples and lovers across this nation? Across the globe? Perhaps love is only adaquately expressed in seconds, rather than life times... Does love then become so fearful of a dynamic that the human body, without the aid of God, can simply not digest it? Are Pop Tarts really as bad for you as they seem? Luckily, I know the answer to the last question- and it is YES.

Tonight, I watched an older couple sit down in front of me in a restaurant. They slid in to their booth like weather worn clocks- no longer enticed by their futures, but disdainful instead. I imagined their second hands screeching by, wishing they were capturing a different life- a different world. I watched them unfold their napkins with crumpled fingers, never saying a word to each other. Never summoning a smile, or a smirk- not even a reaction far less welcomed. No anger. No surprise. Their lives were lifeless, their days, dayless- and I can guarantee their nights were no story to behold. What were they? Shells. Empty shells on a beach that no one cared to walk upon.

The man adjusted his oversized, cigarrette stained glasses... they creaked beneath his finger tips. Or maybe it was his finger tips doing the creaking.

Were these people once volatile like me? Did they live in extremes- experiencing life to overwhelming degrees as I have? Or have they been just as they are- since the very moment of their conception? I hope they were never me- for fear of becoming them, but for their sake- I wish and pray that they have experienced even a thin, unsteady slice of the joy I have sought and gained in my life.

I hope I just caught them on a bad day.