do you see the red stamps
underneath your own
on that screen?
dismembered mountains
pay the cost
to save the trees.what about the wasteland you
leave behind?
a place called home.
we destroy others to destroy
our own: to crash cars
because we smudge our
fingerprint stamps on screens
while driving.
i am not higher
in my silence;
i am present.
i am listening
to chatter that does not
matter, to emptiness
disguised as words.i am not lonely
in this darkness;
i am at peace.
still in my shell,
comfortable in nothingness,
as everything dissolves
into one
nothing.
eyes of the hurricane. lips
booming thunder, hurling words
at hundreds of miles per hour.
there was nothing quiet about you.
lines from the world above
break the surface of the sky and
shatter into a million stars.the north star is a lie.
it’s a death trap; it will
hook you, it will make you
bleed.don’t you ever wonder where
everyone has gone?
following stars that promise
them something beyond return;
stars that throw your children’s
entrails back into the sea.soon there will be nothing
but sandy bottoms.
killing is what will kill us,
eventually.
and we will only know this
when it becomes too late.
clockwork heart
beating to the rhythm of
your affection,
i am everyone else’s
property but
my own by the age of
four.a mannequin child
a dress-up doll,
a dog small enough to
carry in a purse. but
i don’t bark–
i’ve been well-trained with
self hatred and
your back to my face.i bet you didn’t know
you’d shrink– disappearing;
the sun drying you
like a raisin until
you shrivel.
i no longer feel
so small. i no longer seem
so weak.
you no longer seem so right.
you are not my god anymore.
i will run barefoot
across the yard with
my hair down and shirt untucked.
i will breathe a little
too deeply and know for once
the only lungs
i can burst are my own.
where have i slipped
between these cracks
that god intended for us
to sink into?
where have i gone to?
a place between my body and the sky.
safe.
soft.i can still hear
them, though.
laughing right
outside my window.
and my stomach against
this mattress is pulling me back
before i am ready to go.i am never ready to go from here;
where poetry flows in the streams,
where a mind is at ease,
where raw hands find peace.
you won’t cry in the night anymore here,
i promise.
i long to be just as the earth,
knowing words are merely what people say.
i’ve suffered through the pain of birth
only from her to be torn away.my entire life i’ve yearned
to be near to her beating heart,
with time, with patience i have learned
an open mind is where it starts.it seems to us a mystery–
how can we hear our mother talk?
don’t rush through life in such hurry;
she speaks in footsteps as you walk.all she humbly asks of us:
to look at every living thing,
to see the beauty and genius
and feel the joy to her they bring.
i’ve been cursed
by the ones before
to only know how to
touch and destroy.
may i teach my children to
kiss the cracks
in the parched earth, to
still the storms within their souls
by filling themselves with
leaves and soil and small miracles,
to love the collective
life that binds us all
into one large breath,
to respect all living, breathing
beings, to find their
steady pulse within
the soil beneath their bare
feet. so that they may
finally feel the freedom
of knowing the truth: that
we are all soil, too.
it is hard for me to believe
sometimes
that you were once naked
and crying, too.
you were once
twenty and counting
the ways to escape.
you were once taught truths
which later dissolved
underneath you.
you were once soft
and glowing with hope and
the certainty of tomorrow.
you once laughed
without the reek of bitterness
and stale cigarettes:
you were in love,
once.
you were once
free.
and i think
that perhaps i could have
loved you, once.
perhaps when you look at me,
you still see
yourself.
i’ve memorized the words
to every line
on your face.
i know the notes that play
in the background
of your mind.
i know by heart the rhythm
of your heartbeat.
i know every single part of the song
you’re living, and
i love it.
Silenticel 