glam.

used to be hotels and nightclubs, concerts and restaurants, shots of light and whisky in the dark. now i find the glam in silent early mornings cooking coffee on the stove.

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if i thought about

what made you you and how our lives would look without it

i too would organize. i too would risk arrest and a violent reaction to our protest

without what made you you there can be none of what made me me or us — we

boiled coffee mixed with cream

this morning i am jumping jacks

boiled coffee

mixed with cream

this morning is the day

you came into this world and

i am calling you

my kitten an alarm clock and

got me out of bed

i cook for you and me

the tibetan bell

the heartbeat

the love of my life

on the road again

i cannot count my blessings

but

i can sit here at my desk

beat up the old english

language for a while

all what makes life @ 46

worth living

alto

she swims alongside the current she

follows the sun into the sea

after many days of searching they

presumed her drowned


they knew nothing of the changes or

how she made it through


she may as well have died


she cuts through open waterĀ 

she moves the breath of life

she has come awakened

to meet the deepest sea

be like a poem never will be written

how does one describe the exhalation of breath

the incomplete gesture the

tangible space suddenly

apparent?

there is a part of me died with you

a fragment

a trailing cry pulling at my hair

wanting to lash out and

break…

something to see

the color of blood as

a way in

as a way out

to look for you

all this is like a poem that never will be written

to die to find you

to leave this alien place premature

and come home