Atlanta, GA
Do not be fooled
By a glass bottle filled to the brim
with breath and dust and dying bugs.
We are welcome when we are willing
to walk and wither like anyone else would.
Cigarette smoke threatens to grey this pickup rainbow adorned by a skeletal vulture and a founding father. A wall painted by a child.
Long hair cared for by a that way woman. I trust her because she believes this city to be hers and although she must learn to share, that dynamite skull still photographs the dried up banjo of an artist rooted in a cabbage patched up hole in a percussionist's pants. Bum. Dum. Drum. Rum. Bum. Bum. Bum.
Israel
Sandy grass atop a camel's back.
Up and down, up and down. Turned around by the red on my shoulder and your naked body.
Spin the bottle and taste its spices, tossing an almond high into the sky and watching it crack.
Float through these words as if you ever had a choice.
I can see for long yards. They go on forever but I fear they see me, staring. This is what pain looks like? Shrapnel decorating a bearded man's meditation with rubber band shrieks?
Existing is no longer enough. Nor is believing. It is understanding, ironically, we struggle to grasp.
There is no God and of that I am uncertain.
Telluride, CO
The air here is chewy. I take a bite and my teeth
go cold like they would gnawing on a popsicle.
The air here is chewy, but it's also fresh and soft and clean.
It massages my skull,
then my jaw.
It sings me a lullaby like it did just one year ago.
Then, this town was a movie. Now, it's a dream.
Sometimes I wonder the difference, both so vivid yet so fleeting.
Movies are dreams and dreams are movies.
But what are eyelashes?
What are yellow leaves dancing to the song of silence?
What is an invisible insect or a tingling sensation in the spine?
They are cinematic. They are dreamlike.
They are vivid and they are fleeting.
They are mine. They are hers. They are ours.
They are part of a sweet, sweet lingonberry pie that will always have a missing slice. I look down and I long
for just one bite.
I look up and, suddenly, everything just disappears.
Blue Lakes Trail at Uncompahgre National Forest,CO
One day, we will be dinosaurs, roaming the mountaintops and
gossiping at the local watering hole.
Once upon a time, we were dinosaurs, making out on steel grey rocks and
erecting tall, proud pine trees in our grandparents' honor.
Today, we are birds, always hungry, always satisfied.
Our hearts flutter, as do our feathers as they glide
through the thick, succulent air.
Today, we are family, resting on the outskirts of a crystal blue lake,
holding hands with a benevolent sun.
Like snow, we are melting.
Like flower petals, we are floating.
Like dinosaurs, we are thirsty.
Our ancestors watch us drown, before teaching us how to swim.
We sleep in their shadows, and with a cool sip of water,
begin to cast our own.
Sedona, AZ
I left my glasses at home, so everything was a blur.
I thought I'd see thick, waxy leaves wrapped in velvet. Instead, I saw a beautiful baby bite rocks and swat at butterflies dressed in gold.
I thought I'd see red rocks smile, shiver, and nod amidst a harrowing heat. Instead, I saw dogs swim and families reunite.
Without my glasses, I am blind.
But in blindness secrecy and sympathy and the tightest of hugs.
I want to hug my ego, not strangle it.
I want to see my soul, not be it.
I want to love myself the way I love
the changing of the leaves, or the way
I love her silky smooth skin being the last thing I see and feel each night.
Without my glasses, there is no velvet, no vibration.
But there is rock and roll and sunshine and sand in my shoes.
There is awareness,
always.