tomorrow’s seduction comes like this: we wonder what’s behind the glass, and climb to find a place within, then hide our face so we can pass as someone that we’ve never been — it isn’t right. but is it wrong to give up and give in when we would give it all to just belong?
To bridge across an empty space They made the wood and metal one; In years before the years before The living business still got done — The dying business, too. We know And yet we don’t, although it’s clear We’re only where we are for those Whose lives and deeds had disappeared A while before the ones we knew. They built our stories, and our trails; They dwell within our living ways, In half-remembered words and tales That try to bridge from them to us. A bridge that’s now in disrepair; But how do you reach what matters when Your own foundation isn’t really there?
this weight my soul it reaches helplessly for thought for role for ease for urgency and though in still after the cooling rains the restless will rejoinders and remains this weight my soul comes evening to attest in part or whole for better or for best connections lost mid atrophy and troll the too-great cost direction seeking goal all mixed and tossed this weight my soul
Appearance Lies as a habit Thoroughly
don’t just speak of hope:
model it —
then watch the world glow
In loving time,
we find again that circumstance
can fool the mind;
the heart that follows, wondering
where all it ends.
The all that is in each of us —
it’s true, my friends.
In loving, time
becomes that thing, both meaningless
and precious, true —
what all there is, and was,
that matters; what to do
when ruptures happen everyday
and vainly, we seek signs.
Out in the hills,
a meadow green that’s rarely seen,
much like the heart of love that hides
mid concrete walls;
and yet, it’s worth the trip
the trouble, and
to spend the minutes that we have
in loving time
oh, tell me, time: how do I store you up? where do I keep you still, who, always rolling, mocks these mercantile schemes? am I my druthers keeper? sticking only wishes, locked inside of self-deluding dreams, these walls of my pretense, unstored with all that nourishes, a monument to all that never was
where did the echoes go, the footsteps once beside me on this pier, this wakeful pier, more than a doubtful hypallage where is the life that sorrow smiled, the laughed through pain (sometimes) along the edge of this melange-expanse this landscape made of tears
mornings in the spring guileless and silent searching living for life's sake raising in love what love can feeding hope where light reaches