Moniker

September 30

Moniker

The Hurt carry on the tradition, would never think to give it up, don’t even know there is that option, strap on their weapons without a second thought. How can there be a second thought when there never was a first. Hurt is a reflex and it moves its way through the world like dominoes tumbling; everything’s knocked down before you ever saw it standing. So, what’s the use anyway? So, I fall down and in that action push you forward and we are all together in the mud, but it is so hard to recognize anyone in the mud, including myself and especially you. If I hurt you that makes it hard for me to see anything about you except my wish for your departure, which I subconsciously hope will take away the guilt I can’t afford to feel. If I make it out of the mud I can’t afford anything, but if I don’t pay up I’ll be in new mud soon, so I must break tradition and the first step toward that is seeing it and the second is calling it by its name.

Open up your secret vault and unload

*

BATTLESHIP

If the first is a guess, what is the second?

Paranoia or worse.?

Action is a blessing, reaction a debilitation

And to twist from reaction to self-doubt

Sinks the battle and the battleship.

When I can’t make sense, the gift is stepping back,

Better to put my hand down than to lose the farm.

When I find myself in a minefield I can walk gingerly

Or wait for aid to come from above, air rescue or other.

The option of rethinking every step sets me dancing

The tune which begins this hurky jerky polka of death which

Stems from the metronome of criticism playing in my ear.

When I am overwhelmed with critique

I give up acceptance of chance or joy of spontaneity

Throwing myself into a pit of apprehension.

I am safer being wrong occasionally

Then unsure forever

Kicks

September 29

Kicks

New balance is more than a brand of sneakers. New balance is a joyful revelation made possible through constant vigilance. I am tap dancing into a vision, no more soft shoed wishfulness. I can lift my feet knowing I can keep my up right posture; my musculature robust from climbing the steps and accepting direction. This bright tempo delights me; I feel stretched, supple, able bodied. Life off the balance beam offers me the world in which to embrace my equilibrium.

Pick up your toys, pick up your chin and move on

*

CATCH

How can my sensibility catch my intellect

Or find a map with enough information

To get my heart to the current location of my mind?

What are the common markers recognized by soul and brain?

I know the pulse of my wrist

Is counter pointing the firing of my synapses.

My life signs run their course

And I struggle to find the intersections

I long for more than signposts and curbing.

I would like parallels, paradigms and conclusions

There must be a place of common home and hearth.

I am looking for the depot of my life

I hope I hit it before I hit the coast.

A Verse to the Wise

September 28

A Verse to the Wise

Encoding truth into poetry makes reality survivable by giving readers the opportunity to dig truth up like diamonds. Throwing certainty in peoples faces like cold water gives them a wake up call but nothing to embrace. The beauty of semaphore is the dance that need not be understood by everyone who sees it. Communication through device leaves headroom and breathing space while acceptance might be reached. The current of a conversation often leads me to face the facts, but a tsunami of candor could drown me.

Exhaust reaction with reason

*

DENY ONE---DENY THE OTHER

If you want to deny the problem

By necessity you must deny the solution.

Resolving a problem whose existence is rejected

Creates a split in the crust of collusion.

Often times the convolution and reconvolution of addiction

Causes a bloated roiling mass

That rolls through the streets of sanity.

How can a wedge be cut in a creature so dense.

How can I work on piecing together remedies

When I am readily assured by fellow sufferers

There is NO DISEASE?

Can I trust my personal depletions?

Can I employ faith to a resolution

When faith is utilized to fortify

The contagion I’m told doesn’t exist

But if not faith what?

One Street off Armory

September 27

One Street off Amory

Apology holds change at arms length. Apology is the thing I was taught to wait for as a sign that things will improve, but apology is not a harbinger of change it is quite the opposite it is the guarantor of business as usual; no amendment need occur, apology has been made and life goes on with no alteration. Without variation we all stay sick and apologizing for that won’t get us better. Restitution, amends, revelation, revolution these are the things which make the world bright, apology is just a scrap with which to wipe your ass.

Put down your bat, skip your rope

*

ALSO A GIFT

Sadness is as life affirming as joy

But in the same way that people eat together

But defecate alone, joy is encouraged in public

And sadness is a private matter.

Happiness is embraced and discouragement relegated

Even though personal experience shows disappointment

Is often a point of growth.

What beauty and change stem from disillusion

But still it is hard to look directly

At grief and not flinch away.

The temptation to fain pleasure

And leave sadness swept under the carpet is strong.

It is an unwelcome job to be the defender of grief

A job which should be unnecessary to defend

We are not giants who can step

From one mountaintop to the next.

Green Wood

September 26

Green Wood

When a nail is hammered into a living tree, the tree is forever changed. Even if the barb is pulled out the tree will never be the same. If the spike remains and the tree lives; over time the nail will be incorporated, the tree will get on with the business of living and carry the thing as just a part of what it took to get here. What was trauma is trauma, but life is big and the longer it gets the larger the life, is the hope. Piercing experience is engulfed by rings of fresh wood and a will to grow beyond the moment of impact. The tree branches out and even a hundred nails can’t stop that.

Educate domination when you can and cage it when you have to

*

VIRGINIA CREEPER

In a clearing grows a vine

As seasons change the leaves turn pale.

This type of vine grows throughout the woods

But does it grow pale everywhere

Or only in this sunlit space?

I see the trembling of the lovely foliage

And wonder the destiny of the flora.

Does growth have a will of it own?

Does it grow to light or is it a must?

Can I turn my face

Even if Virginia Creeper cannot?

And if I can------------

Should I just to prove a point?

No Dialing Tonight

September 25

No Dialing Tonight.

When it is late at night and I can’t sleep I wander and putter and plan my dreams. I hold out hopes and wash their faces; pray for rain and clean all traces. Thunderstorms rumble and lightning strikes; I tune up the plumbing and wipe down the pipes. All the paint and promises in the world won’t change me; I’m still lost in the dark without you. Tear stains are friendly till I wash them away leaving blotchy eyes that can’t be explained; an aching heart that keeps on ticking and wishes that can’t come true. Sunday morning is here, too soon and life rolls on whether you think it should. Tiny thoughts come out to play and sad, sad fears keep them at bay. But the dog is curled up under the covers without a care; I long to disturb her but do not dare. She is the queen here and I’m but the naïve; I’ll tend to my writing and try to be brave. For the dawn will follow this endless nocturne; the whole world will be safe once more. I will cry but it’s all too late; though you are merely a phone call away.

Find the place where noise and music intersect

*

ALARM CLOCK

The dream killer plays its harsh tones.

I pull my lids, so unwilling to wake.

The tip of my tongue dry to leather

Welcomes the wet of my toothbrush

I grin a foaming smile.

I run through my night travels

I mentally wonder the highlights

Ponder the implications and meanings.

Dressed, with open door breeze in my face

I leave nighttime escapades

For daytime pandemonium.

The only thing I won’t leave behind

Is the last image before the gong sounded.

What is Dear?

September 24

What is Dear?

I am angry that I was taught I must hold on for dear life instead of being taught that life is dear, but they couldn’t teach me what they didn’t know and couldn’t know what they had not discovered for themselves. I wish I had learned earlier to love the life I was taught to cling to, but I am grateful I have been bound to life long enough to find the joy in it. I have found that knowing joy causes me to cling all the more, cling in sweetness to what was once such a bitter task. I am angry for what I wasn’t taught, but sadder still for what they didn’t know and all that is lost in their lives to ignorance and tradition. I wanted better for them and they wanted better for me and this is the circle which closes around the dear that I hold onto.

Make room for running starts

*

FRUSTRATING IMPROVEMENT

Improvement is frustrating, lonely and yet exhilarating.

It somehow starts with moths in the stomach

And ends with warm soup satisfaction.

Struggling, waiting, followed by further struggle

Progress made by tugging one string then the other.

It is hard to accept scaling the ropes alone

But tottering assent is always this way.

Once at the top I realize how easily I could slide to the bottom

Sometimes friction is all that keeps me up.

Establishing a new altitude is challenging.

I must ground myself in a new way.

My talents hinder and aid me.

I must open the correct doors in my mind

And avoid the traps in the floor.

Stuttering through requirements and obligations

I transform but only slowly.

Earning each drop of comfort from a job just done.

Peace Time

September 23

Peace Time

I have been to the wars and through the wars and now sit on the stoop and wonder; will I learn to live here in the world of everyday after having had to spend so much time running for cover. Each time I return to what I believe is my home I sit and rock trying to pour my soul back inside from my hipflask where it was held for safekeeping. I try not to spill a drop for it is worse than shed blood and harder to rebuild. My soul has grown pale from confinement and lack of sun, but it still exists and for that I pat my back and suck on my Lifesaver; I could have done worse, was unable to do better. I console myself with the knowledge I never started the conflict just learned to survive it.

Substitute action for apathy

*

REMEMBERING

Remembering is the oxygen my brain pumps to my soul.

Remembering gives me mobility and traction.

Everything in my life that is positive depends on my remembering.

It keeps apathy at bay

And complacency locked in some far off cupboard.

Remembering gives today the misty sweetness I have grown to love.

I can live to my potential and enjoy the process.

Watch misery move away.

I can dream the future every night

Because I remember who I am and what I am capable of.

Never can I be haunted.

Memory keeps me from reactionary visitation.

Though some fear the past

I know holding it in a close embrace

Allows me to dance to the rhythm of truth.

No Jin

September 22

No Jin

I molested the touch control lamp. I had no trouble turning it on, but could never figure how to turn it off; therefore I let the light shine in the daytime. I called looking for guidance, “lick your fingers then try again,” was the glib suggestion. I offered that I was not interested in becoming that intimate with said lamp. Sometimes connections are made easily, other times they cannot be made at all; still there are times the renewal of a connection is determined by my willingness to up the ante. Am I willing to put a little spit into the effort or will I leave the light to burn?

Invent small pleasures

*

WILLING PIECRUST

I lay the crust of my will over the pie plate of Gods’ will for me.

I must have the willingness to trim off the excess.

I hesitate--- I worked hard to roll it out.

I know from past experience when hot issues come up

These tags and hanging-ons burn and drop

Sometimes ruining the flavor and appearance of the whole.

It is easier to cut loose the things outside God-given intent.

I get the pie in its entirety when I crimp and bend

To the shape of my life.

Mercy

September 21

Mercy

The rearview holds the vision, the sad figure on the corner as I drive away, all that is left to me are memories of G-d, the rest I ejected and sped from as fast as I could. I cannot face what is left when I make G-d homeless and unloved. Though living together was tough sometimes, living alone is unbearable. Nothing cooks right, cleans right, tastes right or smells right, even the moon won’t rise right when I am strictly on my own. And G-d wasn’t built for the streets, that corner is not someplace my Higher Power fits in. We are meant to be together and apart the world spins off its measure. Pitiful is what I am, so I swing around the block, fling open the door and take pity on G-d and go home.

Make time for lullabies

*

BELLS

The bells are ringing but no one sings

There are no peals of laughter and that’s just fine

For pleasure is not the only response to sound.

Shock and distain are other options, too.

I have what I want in relationship to the buzz in my ear

Equal opportunity attitude, pro and con.

Some songs bring joy when they end.

I have to lower my expectation of pleasure

And value my distaste for tinkling sounds

Or any other preordained sweetness.

Toolbox

September 20

Toolbox

I know just how hard it is to pick up the right tools. It's like I know I have a hammer in the drawer, in fact I have two, so, why oh, why do I feel compelled to hit things with the heel of my shoe? Trust and believe it is ineffective at best; additionally it is embarrassing. I wish I could say I have done this a handful of times, unfortunately, I have done it over and over, it’s hell on my shoes and worse on my morale. Using what is at hand or foot may seem practical, but it is not prudent. Walking myself through the step by step process; reading and following directions is easier but only when I disengage the lie that says it’s harder.

Build a canopy over elucidation

*

SAFETY IN MY CHAIR

Sometimes

I have to sit with my knees

Tucked up under my chin

My feet can’t touch the floor

At these moments I hug my legs to me.

I feel contained

But somehow adrift in my chair.

I center my mind on breath and pulse

Pure fear flits and flutters

While I gain my composure.

When I feel safe enough

To put one foot down

Then the other and connect

With the world again.

I am leaving home to embark this earthly trek

The journey is there for me everyday

But some days I curl up in my chair.

Nameless Strange

September 19

Nameless Strange

I am nameless strange and you don’t know me, not anymore. Dismissed as an unread book; sent away with covers torn off. The bad weather that you love keeps you indoors eating hot curry and thinking foolish thoughts. What narcissism separates you and me? After blinking eyes you find our sameness, bend near me and whisper my name.

Have faith in fruit

*

A LITTLE EXTRA HOPE

What will you do with a little extra hope?

Asked my quizzical sponsor.

What good is a little hope?

My retort.

A little hope got you sober,

What can you do with a little more?

Could you take out your dreams

And fly them on a breeze?

Could you throw yourself

Into a wave of intention

And see if you could ride it out?

Breathe easier, smile broader?

Take my hand tighter

And walk the road awhile longer

Before you run for refuge?

Let me ask a better question.

What couldn’t you do with a little more hope?

-----------FAIL-----------

Buffoon

September 18

Buffoon

Never juggle knives and butter at the same time or you will just spread your problems around. Passing on the knives is the first best idea, leaving the butter in the dish is the second. I have gotten many funny schemes into my brain; gotten them in with ease, it is the getting them out of my brain I struggle with. Crowbars and coercion have been my favored tools; ineffective though they may be, I am persistent, while wishing to be dexterous. It took me years to realize the problem with juggling is that it begins with me throwing things and ends with disaster if I can’t catch it all. What slips through my fingers through daily living is hard enough what I throw into the fray for showmanship is, too much. I needn’t be the fool flinging my pins when my goal is to stay on them.

Learn a song in case of karaoke kidnapping

*

OLD BOOKKEEPING, NEW PAINTING

What will become of the fine lines

I use to divide good news from bad?

How will I handle life with no screen to keep

the silt from shifting across my personal landscape.

A delicate crosshatch had kept little checks in little boxes

Now the checks are bouncing randomly,

No pattern or restraint.

My old bookkeeping has come to an abrupt end

Leaving many questions and much uncertainty.

I lift the green visor from my brow,

Looking for answers from the periphery.

Taking the long view

I put down my pencil and pick up my paints.

Sling the easel over my shoulder

And walk away from meticulous survival.

The fine lines I have now are in my brush strokes

And even bad news is somehow good.

Ovoid

September 17

Ovoid

I can pretend at this normal life for a period of time then the plaster starts to crack on this white picket fence and it’s all down hill from there. I am better than I was; I am happier and more well adjusted, yet I am still far from fitting with the standard fittings, I am an off size, my threads run counter to the average fixture, I spent too much time on the rack to resemble anything from off the rack. It’s not that I am so special; it is just that I am Special Ed. Performance anxiety and paranoia regularly take me out of round though even with these kept at bay I am not your normal nut. I assure you that you can dress me up and take me out, just don’t try to take me home.

Remind yourself of your friends

*

WEE HOURS

In the wee hours I hear the high pitched wail

the tiny pest whining in my ear

the onset of my thin stretched nerves reaching their end.

A few more hours are required of me tonight

I rally my spirit and lift the edges of my willing resolve.

Long slow nights carry me to far corners of my mind.

I am more average than I had imagined or hoped for.

The commonness of four AM brings base to disclosure

the charmed exposure of predawn wakefulness.

The fuzzy vibrations in my brain make me feel deep and real

Vulnerable to all the normal limitations of nature and caprice.

The sun will rise, ending this night.

My sentry over I will fall to earth, and rest, and bed.

Hand Washing

September 16

Hand Washing

I live a simple life now; I handle life as it is dished up. I no longer need to make use of the dish prison. Living an orderly active life I find it untenable to have my favorite spoon or bowl held hostage until I make enough mess to run the dishwasher through. I don’t live an ‘Eight is Enough’ type existence and need not burden my psyche trying to save my hands a little soap. I save the Cascade for visits to waterfalls, Jet Dry for landing strips.

Smile with all the parts of your face

*

DEATH PRACTICE

Why do you practice death like it were a skill?

Do you fear you lack ability, or because it’s your goal

Have you made it your hobby?

Beleaguered by the questions of my sponsor

I search quickly for some believable response.

I confused calm with death

And thought I was practicing the former.

Death came for a holiday

How could I refuse it.

It’s a test drive, if I like it I can keep it.

My sponsor doesn’t think I’m funny.

Check your motives, wants and desires,

Make sure death is what you really want,

That it’s not just your fallback position

Because you fear life.

Don’t get me wrong

I hope death is a good thing

But why try to chew tomorrows food

When your plate is full of today?

Warhol Wouldn't Be

September 15

Warhol Wouldn’t Be

There is no trick to art. If I work to make my pieces fit with the familiar I lose my individuality. If I make what is truly me I fear there is no line in which to stand. I must make the work, find the market, live life and die happy; all this with no map and a world filled with people who tell me what to do, but none who can guarantee the outcome. My unwillingness to fight, to look at and feel the ugliness of life is at the core of my impediment.

Except change then accept change

*

LINEAGE

People stand in the cue and I stare,

Lost in contemplation and compliance

I weigh the conflicts and complications.

Is this the method to clear identification?

I think I am better known for the lines I’ve crossed,

The times I press between warm souls

And force myself to the area beyond.

How can I wait my turn for generational stew

When the fruit trees bear life for those who break free

From ruts and rumbles to bite deeply the flesh of the future?

I can’t stand here though I love so many in this line.

I cannot love the line itself.

I must step through, breathe,

Stretch my legs and mind.

Take leave of grids and locks

Living a lonelier but healthier life

All caused by a change in direction.

Heartfelt

September 14

Heartfelt

Boab trees litter my dreams; gossipy like old women in the late afternoon sun, I wonder at the tales they tell though I am far too young to understand. The Australian Kimberly shelters these mysteries in life; they shelter me in the far off wilderness of my mind. Coming to age seems merely a step when in the presence of the ancient beauty of long endured life. Too long drought, too deep rain, are places I can pick my face up from, stand my ground or be on my way. The leaves may fall, but they will return in my dreams and I will return to my life.

Chime in

*

HOME TO HOPE

Shadows of doubt fall across my face on dark days

And I have trouble finding my way home to hope.

Reliance on sunshine fails me come dusk.

Twinkling stars bare their souls to little avail.

I am lost.

Absurdity and obsession plague me for time and attention.

I wander deeper into a dismal wood.

How can I chop my way free?

Dejection dulls my senses; I am blind to solemn assurance.

I must reevaluate the shimmering enthusiasm from the night sky

Skepticism passes like storm clouds.

I may feel the rain for a time.

Necessity reigns on both sides of every street

But still I can crawl into my bed

Morning will come and I will fear less the coming night.

Cadentia

September 13

Cadentia

The randomness of love is matched only by the randomness of loss. What slips into view or out of grasp whispers beyond my control. Like cookies baking in a nearby oven I long for the sweetness to be inside; even if it is simply in an olfactory way. The similarity of the pain of what I have and the pain of what is no longer mine haunts me; scares my security, rattles my hope, affects my sleep. For minutes make a life and moments are all it takes to remove the very same. In the end all that I know is that loss does not remove love and love does not remove loss.

Check your drawers for memories

*

SCREAMING LETHARGY

The screaming lethargy of being alive

after many years of wanting something else.

The exhaustion of pulsing, breathing waves,

waves of thinking.

Yet as tired as I am, I am.

Here without a doubt, I stand.

No crawling, for I have not fallen.

No climbing, for I have reached the plain.

I wait for the rain to wash over me.

The truth to run through me, time to pass by me.

Like a free trip to an unwelcome destination

I arrive with randomly packed bags and low expectations.

I am here now.

The train doesn’t seem to be moving on.

I might as well leave the station.

Nothing to do on the platform.

There may be points of interest

or flowers to be smelled.

I step haltingly and fear making any connection

to this unbidden place.

My name is unknown.

I befriend the lamppost, the birds, the street.

I am tired from travel,

Fearful of arrival.

Fury courses through my veins

but the weather is pleasant.

I might take off my coat and stay.

Hypothetical

September 12

Hypothetical

Is my inability to understand what creates mystery? If I were brighter, swifter, keener, would life be free of unknown communion? Would comprehension eliminate revelation? Would I lose perceptual apprehension by arming myself with knowledge of forethought? Could I end mysticism through education? Should I even if I could?

Sample other people’s assets

*

OPTICAL ILLUSIONS

Like my new frames? I ask my sponsor

Who wrote you prescription?

Oh the lenses aren’t new just the frames, I reply.

You want to be seen differently,

but you want to see things the same old way?

My question still stands---

Who wrote you the script for those funhouse glasses

you have used all your life?

Did it ever occur to you the distortion is ground into the glass?

Remember some people need you to see things for other than what they are.

Unhappy families look great if you can’t see them too clearly.

It’s hard to know what to say to keep the peace--said Grandma.

She never took off her specs to see there was no peace to keep.

So I ask you again --The view of the world you base your choices on

who chose the color you see it through?

Louet

September 11

Louet

Consolidating fuzz into yarn makes me a friend to sheep everywhere. Spinning the filaments of truth into cables of life does not impress the mutton in anyway, but sure does my mental health a world of good. Free floating fiber is bad for my lungs and piles lint all around. Giving things a firm twist pulls together what used to be fluff and keeps me warm and dry.

Jones for candor

*

WORKS

I cry the waterworks so necessary to the healing of my heart.

I explode with the fireworks required

For anger to set living boundaries.

I sleep the sleep of angels, as I link to dream works

Allowing mental maintenance to occur,

Slip into my political face, making time for public works.

I return to my abode, call the pie maker and order “the works”.

Have it delivered so I can face the homework

Waiting for me and bearing my name.

Oh the Wells Fargo Wagon

September 10

Oh the Wells Fargo Wagon

Tying myself to one rail of a set of railroad tracks gets me the same results as tying myself to the other. Swapping one chemical fix for another is like changing my socks in a rainstorm, nothing dry will come of it. Not seeing potential harm does not eliminate the harm. Like a child with my hands pressed firmly over my eyes I yell, “You can’t see me,” and run headlong into disaster. Whether the train comes and makes a mess or not I make my own soup Ducky and must get on track by staying off the rails.

Go relax on the porch of your imagination

*

WILD

When I run wild through the rain

My hair streaming behind me

Water fleeing my face

I see with my heart

The thousand other rains

Pouring from my past.

How I peel from me the soaking luggage

Covering my naked pain

Nothing drives me to the cozy retreat

Of my bed like the humid chill

Of an early fall drizzle.

I slip my trembling skin between

The comfort and the comforter,

Flex my toes,

Towel my hair, wipe scenes of lost love

From my pale, pale soul.

Leaves rush my gutters, clog my mind.

I see the change in me as I turn heel to heel.

Trees spinning bare in a blank wet world,

I know this ever relived fluid, recycled life.

Barnum, Bailey & Me

September 9

Barnum, Bailey & Me

When I wake to find a whip and a chair by the side of my bed I know I am in for a circus of a day and the tears of this clown will not change a thing. I ready myself for the tightrope walk and watch out for stray elephants. All the trained poodles in the world can’t make this into a day in the park. Painted ponies prance through their paces; I try to stick to my own act, meanwhile remembering that no matter how difficult these routines may be it still beats a seat in the stands.

Raffle off the surplus grit from your nitty gritty

*

MEGAPHONE

The point of surviving

Or maybe the goal after survival

Is enabling the voices of victims to be heard

Starting with my own.

I allow the surging waves of thought and feelings

To rush the gates and exit

I try to bleed the bad

With and without the use of leaches.

So much is stumbled upon rather than sought after,

Some things hound me, I run down the street

With memory at my heels

I must let the screams out or become them.

Today I talk, tomorrow is for others.

When I pour forth I open the way for the rest

I have become the megaphone

Rather than the cheerleader

It is good to be of use.

Helping Hands?

September 8

Helping Hands?

Why would you go to a rattler for a snakebite remedy? It feels so much like the hair of the dog that bit me. The truth is I must, must stay away from the quick answers. I am a slow healer, but I do heal if I allow myself to do so unencumbered by poison or untruth. When I am returning to the vomit of my past it is incumbent upon me to search for the old lies and/or the new ones, either or both will get me drunk; do I even need the help of a prescription pad?

Never cage harbingers

*

SELF-SEEKING IS A DEBIT

Trying to get credit for everything I do

Has run me into debt in my anonymity account

Which draws directly from my humility bank.

I cannot expend my resources seeking acknowledgement

And expect to retain much dignity or class.

How can I build within, while constantly grasping,

For nods and smiles from scenery and landscaping?

I want approval so much that I have lost my center.

In an attempt to top the charts I forgot my song.

My ego writes checks that my soul can’t cover.

I run my potential into the red

Looking to get my name in black and white.

If I keep my name out of lights

I have a chance of building up my dignity.

Genius

September 7

Genius

I am often bonded to a self which thinks I know everything and when in doubt believes I should know even if I don’t. Freeing me of this requires the constant support of friends and neighbors’ assuring me that in a capricious world willingness is a more practical resource; it packs neatly and handles most jobs with aplomb. Staying consistently free from the bondage of self requires truckloads of willingness and the spirit of humility and sometimes even forgiveness. I am freer when I like myself, for the true bondage of self is the hatred of self.

Acknowledge the marks left by the street you came from

*

YES---THAT TOO

When kindness becomes weakness,

When mental agility becomes emotional instability,

It’s time to reassess everything.

I cannot leave things off my inventory

Because my Grandma, society or the preacher says

It’s a good thing to be.

Every blessing can be a curse.

All my characteristics have their dark side.

I have to list the entirety of my cargo

And keep a watchful eye.

I have to moderate my investment

In all my abilities or lose myself.

Warmth is nice but I don’t want Death Valley.

Integrity requires balance

Or depraved indifference will be the outcome.

Weak or strong, right or wrong.

It all goes on the scale.