Linger

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Morning dangles from my fingertips

as I wake still half-submerged

in my dream’s disruptive cocoon.

Though the sun

weaves a path through the clouds,

i can still taste the unfurled potency

of Morpheus’s playground

etching jagged pockmarks

into the dream-stained day.

The golden haze of first blush

beckons, radiating reassurance

but i, unassured

still blink reverie shards

from troubled lashes.

Seed sharp roots murmur of elsewhere,

ruthlessly teasing my mind’s edges

as they sketch

illegible writings on the wall,

twilight harnessed

in a gambler’s glimpse

of the space between worlds.

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Letters

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lines drip bald-faced

down a seemingly empty page

after a daring jailbreak

from an unfiltered unconscious

angels & angles

demons & dreams

crisscrossing

while memories insidiously

waltz their way

around the edges

masquerading as mothballs

dipping & clinging

to paper particles

how can an incurious vowel

here

a crooning consonant curve

there

possibly hope to convey the bottomless

endless spectacles everywhere unfurling

/a riot of humanity throughout history/

what scribe or scholar

could tame the beast

with the sideline stroke of a pen?

not i, said the fly.

still,

what better way

to grasp for the moon?

Recollect

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i can’t stop spending

the mishmash currency of

coin-cast moments

stacked neatly on

an unevenly varnished

mental shelf.

such cautious sentries,

canaries trumpeting their warning of

the tides of change

that spiral kitten soft

licking & mewling at corners.

i reach & reach

grabbing dog-eared delusions

frozen amber frenzies,

unspooled choices &

pearled nostalgia,

for my first annual

Freudian tag sale

Summer

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dreamweavers drift by

unhurried

buried in dandelions

canoeing around the summer air

sparking beacons of imagination

with their firefly shimmers

gold crowned grass rustles,

confiding + whispering

of stories from questionable realities

and far off yesterdays

snoring oak trees, chattering cicadas

underscore cool, unruffled night breezes

bringing myriads of meanings

to the star soaked sky

as it beckons us closer

with incorrigible fingers of light

always perfectly out of reach

and all the more beautiful for it

Both

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are we oceans or stars?

earth or fire?

clouds or crowns?

sigh skipping breeze

or bold, blustering monsoon?

on the surface

we are urged to

divide,

 divide again

until all that’s left

are labels + shelves

but i say

i’ll be demon and angel both

my flaws are also my strengths

my pain also my joy

so i refuse to choose

i accept my

contrast-checkered coat of arms.

shapeless shades

of red rimmed judgment

no longer shackle me to

the tainted well of my inhibitions

+ deserted back alleys of doubts

now

i stand free

Storm

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when did

drifting

become so beautiful?

ever before, life’s unseen ringmaster

trained me to run between

unpredictable clouds,

dodging

striating sharp-stricken lightning

dogging at my footsteps & futures

barking, screaming,

ravenous.

but.

since

i decided

to own my skin, my soul,

myself

in all colors, errors + weathers

the tempest has changed tempo

now i ride alongside,

no longer swallowed.

i know, now

how to reach into

the howling drumbeats of chaos

and grab new-hatched rainbows,

storm-forge my own tarnished silver linings,

even if broken, abused fingers

are too numb to feel them

they unspool from

somewhere

half-forgotten inside me

i seize hold of my wonder

and cast it out into the world

The Ripening (Revisited)

This is a poem I wrote a long, long time ago– but it still holds true today. A little bit for all of us, maybe? 

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i miss the me
that doesn’t exist yet.

the me that doesn’t ever feel
hollow or tarnished,
but new-minted
brassy with happiness.

i can feel her roots,
burrowed too deep
for conscious thought or recognition.

outside the cocoon,
a spirit adrift,
circling warily around my potential

idly watching
the twisted not-quite-right person
struggle to bloom.

Belief

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i thought it would feel

close&crystalline

instead

it’s a far away

wonky weird amber

pulsing slowly against

sudden sweet goosebumps

as painful as they are pure

these noble sentinels

standing

up

reaching out to touch

this curious new feeling

settling comfortably

inside my mind

nudging aside scars

most only half-healed

mouths agape,

they retreat with deferential nods

+ make room for the

mysteriously edged

awe-inspiring newcomer

A Wandering Winter

Shades

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unsure pupils, just barely released

from the dreaming den

struggle to shift from slumber to selection.

Is today the day that I reignite the

pinnacle promise of my best self?

there’s only one way to find out.

so i sleepily play pied piper on my heart flute

until all the varied shadows of me

stream + cavort out of

my soul wardrobe, displaying

crimson tees tinted with rage,

mellow yellow skirts of perception,

+ brocade jackets of brooding.

a many-hued parade of potential psyches

made possible by humanity’s

grasping gamble hope

that the perfect guess

will guide

our kismet kissed roulette ball

into the right notch

+ unveil life’s secrets

hidden away like nuts

in almost-forgotten holes.

choices, neuroses + morals

jostle for elbow room in their bone cage,

overloud so-called spectators

for the daily freudian perp walk

of the shaded spaces

between the lines.

 what potential

will you unlock

today?

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