Monthly Archives: December 2015

The ballet

Stuck in a downward circle like
a dancing, dying cockroach or
a spoon stuck in a garbage disposal.
Stuck in this excitement and hip
hopping around all the living that
has yet to happen. Spend the next
day slugging back black Costco brand
coffee, batting eyes, resting my
face on greasy hands and
waiting to be more awake.
So I can live.

If I had my own business
cards they would read Professional
Sleepwalker, they would be black
with white ink
and I would hand them out to
all the other zombies
and ghouls that walk
with me wherever I go
among the mist
among the tall thin trees
where we play hide and seek
with our souls.

Why do cockroaches run
from the light
why can’t I stop thinking about you
why won’t we get an exterminator
to make it all stop.
I need a soul exterminator to make
all the bad things stop.
Could I make a cockroach
ballet and dress them all
up in ivory and pink dresses
and make them dance,
charge admission,
and be one of those weird
and abnormal sideshows
next to the main tent
with the elephants and lions
and crazy haired men.

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Christmas Insomnia

Living on bright pink Benadryls and melatonin
to try to make half dreams
seem more real to try to get through the lonely
distant too hot too cold nights glowing
with those fake plastic plug-in candles
with bulbs that get too hot
for Christmas. Keep throwing
the covers back
to stop the sweat keep pulling them over
legs to warm naked toes. No amount of blankets
will warm hearts not even
an amount comparable to the Princess and the Pea.
Afraid to close eyes for what
demons hide behind eyelids. Afraid
to open lips
to pray or cry out
for what evil sounds await on sour
tongues. Dreams that are not dreams
at all but terrible memories
from the VHS tapes of last week
the last too quick touch
and dreams that are not dreams
at all but cringeworthy situations
that play out
in the deepest depths of minds.
Where has the World put it’s
ancient Choose Your Own Adventure books
from the Long Beach Island
library on the boulevard
with crinkled pages
torn covers
and bookmarked endings: hearts don’t hurt
between pages.

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To accept

Realize that you made things the way they are because of how
frightening it can be to have dreams and to go after remarkable
dreams – to keep your dreams in an open jar at your bedside.

Feel disconnected. Feel like you’re crazy: just hold on. Hold on
to your mother, to your father, to the memories of your
grandmother with wrinkled frail hands – to hold on tightly.

Don’t put bravery to bed. Shake it, and wake it up. Be incredible,
be your own best masterpiece every single day. And be the best
damn street sweeper that you can be – to accept who you are.

Climb the mountains in your life, becuase when you stand at the
summit that feeling of insignificance, of catching your breathe,
of wonder and honor and fear – to accept who you are becoming.

Be okay when everything is not right, with loneliness, with distant
empty hope. Know that the longing strengthens and awakens you – to
accept the days and moments and breaths that you have been given.

To speak softly, to touch gently, to let go, and to live.

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This is everything

I believe in God
in the holy layers of the Universe
I believe in Jack Kerouac and the Beats
the Fate that exists to get me where I am meant to exist
I believe in sweet people who are there
who tell me I am Weird.

I believe in my Father
I believe in my Mother who gave
birth to me
I believe in making mistakes
in solitude
gentle Wilderness
in going down so deep
but always crawling out.

I believe in the Good and the Bad
in making mistakes
seeking happiness
and the importance of Self.

I believe in rebirth
failure
laughter
pain
I believe in pushing yourself
I believe in Passion
in hunger
in heartbreak
in panic attacks
in dark places
and in finding the Light.

I believe in holy nights
and the even more holy sunrise:

this is Life
this is all there is
all there will ever be
this is everything.

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