oblique (10.16.2021)

 Why do I write so obliquely

            finding it impossible

to stand square against 

            my truth and just

put it on paper

            say in words

                express oneself, absolutely

            and finally.

Maybe its the way a 

            minor chord tripping 

on these hard wired

            emotional triggers

    eclipses the plainness of 

            our banal truth

That I don't know

            Why I want

                to pull it

                    all down.

In the coldness of uncertainty

            in the unsatisfying reality 

    of this stage of life

where there are fewer sure

    things than ever before

the light cast obliquely through

    the prism of experience

        and language

paints the picture in

            a way to mollify

    to scratch the itch that

eternity refuses to

An inexhaustible unknown 

            an impossibly choice

                an absurd reality.

Every truth is individual

            because there are no other

                truths.

We're all, always on the same

    very offshoot bound by

        an impenetrable dark

only possible to know after

            the wanting to know

subsides

        but then nothing matters

is nothing, is no more

        us or anything resembling

a possible knowing now

We are ghosts, shadows

        we are skeletons

    wearing human costumes

        and playing dress up

inhabiting lives we guess at

    from watching others

            knowing better than me

Letting each other in on

            the joke

is the greatest kindness we

    can give to those

beating hearts with

    whom we share

our disappearing minutes

and she, body next to

    mine

        flesh so alive and 

            lovely

stirring in me a primordial

    reaching out for communion

        seen and unseen

        darkness of night or 

            burning sun I want to

be entirely other than

       only myself 

Creating one new thing

    neither she nor I

        but more and so

much less

            indelibly

    and irrevocably less

            than the longing

for an understanding

we were expressly designed

    to never reach.

ghost ship (10.16.2021)

 And which port does it

    find a bottomless harbor

within which floating

    field in place as if

        tethered.

    But the anchor has

                            not dropped

It remains clutched tight

                            against this chest

unwilling to the vulnerability

        of stasis

            of connection

                to earth

of the denial of

    the waterborne truth

    that as tide and wind

        so to, I.

In this unnatural harbor

    the tide neither coming in

        nor going out

    the sails fall limp

        spun and knotted around

    my masts

                    unable to

outrun this ghost ship 

    of memory

        of longing

    of confused and contradicted

motivating choices

that must be made

                    must finally

drop anchor

                    or

set sail.

I need both.

    want neither.

Am hounded by those 

    black sails

on the further horizon

Impossible to outrun

    given infinite

        wind &

            time

It never relents

            It never tires

It will never fade into

    the unknown grey

            mist of lost

                memories

It is a truth from which

    I will never

        escape.

do not forget (10.16.21)

 this
Setting sun
    setting memories affixed
    to past lives
    only to be remembered

Once finally you leap 

        from present to future

leaving the past

    the postcard melting sun

        sky on fire

impossible reality moments

The rest of humanity, nothing

    but silhouettes

&

She &

I

    holding on

        keeping the golden

            hour shining from even

                below the depths

Of inevitability.

Eventually, to rise

        Again.

both, but apart

    as one silhouette in foreground

        and one in background

but both

only shadows

Only rough sketches cast

    dark against the brightness

        of a sun

            carrying on beyond

Understanding.

Is it possible

    to ever

        be saved?

By another or by self?

One, more likely than the other

    but, 

        Neither are likely.

Playing the percentages

            leaning against that

                asymptote

                    & never quite

finding the origin.

What a cruel joke.

The precision of random lives

    distributed all the same

given enough bodies and time

    knowing with a certainty that

the house holds all the cards

    and knowing forever how

forever looks

for a single point of 

        viewing the best-case

as only one case out of 

    an infinite

impossibility to

            fall beyond expectations

intentions or otherwise

            the precision of the

pattern wins out with

        Universal truth.

    This is how the pieces

            fall

Some land upright

                others

                        collapse

but none ever reach

        none ever touch

                none ever know

    the infinite

        the source

            the truth.

p. 9 of ?

We were providence.

(Us.)

squinting sun sunshine shield against

pandemia

  Impervious & flowing

two souls navigating the within &&& without

how and why did we do it?

ending up in the same love

anxious and motivated to love

to try any thing because all else

things have led nowhere but

exactly there

in a green blanket, blue roof

endless hope

All doors to futures unknown, open

  because all doors, past, closed

some by our hand, some by theirs

&&& some by time and forces

  only felt only known in eye closing

backward thinking and feeling of

Was i that person?

We were, always are

that selfsame thing only remembered 

not embodied any longer

than the moment of this breath after the 

last 

we always are, what we were

past, present, future

no separation within this body

every moment lives all at once in our

hearts &&& minds

it’s all true and correct, and right

because it’s all us

because we can never escape our

  choices 

and each must be paid for 

each costs, each is a back turned

to a part of that inescapable self

want to be

where I am going 

Or

is it, I am.  

just be; 

Who I am 

  who am I

    & 

      where am I going?

Drifting toward the middle 

of the page passing and running

on in sentences started on some previous

pages turning over

as each morning creeps 

closer to sunlight & 

Warmth

       Out here a tower of salt

    eroding and recaptured by the 

  surf rolling back out and now a part

the whole larger than imagining

Comprehension of here

& now

less than 

flowing, a river of 

feeling

flash bulb moments sparking through

closed eyes and allowing

senses

unpolished and unrestrained

unpracticed and wobbly

Legs though, strong

& planted, though

not rooted to

anyplace/time

only self seeking

an other

and found through

providence

at which

these lines

intersected at just

a moment

it flashed by; 

a star paraboling

and we both

grabbed it & 

each other

& who knows

any more than

wherever we are

going

we are

together

& wherever

matters much

less than 

we, ever.

you're no lover

 and I'm no fighter

so the song goes

but I did fight

with myself and the tide

turning of time and 

growing apart

of us will never be without

the other

but apart

we will never again be

us

and they

never know, really, what 

we

were

ever you go forward

the path behind swept away by 

time's tide

how we found now

only lives in our hearts and 

memories fading but never 

forgotten

quiet moments of sun dappled 

silent looks and holding on

dear life 

it is and has and continues

apace

has finally, yes, I feel it

slackened

if only just a bit

but, that's enough to see now

and what may be next

and how big both

now and maybe really are

entire worlds in each

and only knowing by being a part

of maybe 

a new us

to have our own glances

and silent paragraphs

of knowing

an other 

our tenuous truth

we are all full 

of dread

to be shaken from these

bones aching in 

the morning; cast open

the blinds and let

the light in

my heart flutters

and most 

mornings are met with

ready to try again

ready to let the day

wrap around me as a

something familiar but with

possibility comes from practice

making perfect the rising

numbers and anxiety;

there's no denying

truth solves nothing

is to be solved

personally

we all must move

in good faith forward to some

unknown horizon

and a new dawning

eventually will arrive

the destination less a goal

more an abstraction to which

we pursue

an idea

always important to be

moving toward something

not to distract, but to 

focus

on the present 

is a gift

never for granted; taken

but in this plague time

moves far too slowly if dwelling

on the torpid present

always leading somewhere else

we must balance this

being, here

dissipating as quickly as acknowledged

our tenuous truth

of constant change

these mornings come so early

Cool, relatively and calm

certainly 

Without;

the soundtrack of instinct and carelessness

of moving to the unheard

rhythm of instinct

My so many neighbors

about their business

of living another summer morning

as any other passed

Memories, I imagine

to them 

only serving as guide rails for

an unthought 

Future.

Has the lane narrowed so much

that moving forward is

impossible unthought future

They risk without ever knowing

how they’ve learned

No time to dwell

Here is gone

and past before

you can even consider

Now is a link

closing as quick as thought

of an unbroken chain

connecting the first 

Summer morning

to this sunspeckled maybe

Of a day that I’ll remember

as I do so many

passed.

oh, fortune

     From where do these words

arise.

some slumbers
  are forever

But, we've still time
  And breathe
     And beating hearts
       And fortune; sides with

Us.

to love

and, be loved
is all I’ve ever really felt
important in this world
impermanent and fleeting as we are
this may be the greatness
of which i am
capable